Two Summers
by Helga Von Nutwimple
Summary: Buffy finds a way to de-Key Dawn: mixing her blood with Spike's. They flee the country, leaving Spike, Buffybot, & AI to take on Glory and guard the Hellmouth. When they return years later, Dawn & Spike must deal with the consequences of their bond.
1. Prologue

Prologue  
2001  
  
"To the sky!" Tara shrieked, wriggling fiercely in Willow's restraining arms. "Build it to the sky!"  
  
Anya's pent-up energy burst, propelling her out of her chair. "I can't _take_ this anymore, Xander! We have to _do_ something!"  
  
"Ahn, hon," Xander soothed. "We're doing the best we can..."  
  
She rounded on him, hands clenching into fists. "Easy for _you_ to say! You think I haven't noticed the _pattern_ here? First _Spike_, then _Tara_? Who's next in the Scooby Auxillary Club? Why, that would be _me_! And I'm sorry, but I don't feel like _waiting around_ to see whether she _brain-sucks_ me or turns me into _bruise pudding_ like Spike!"  
  
"I don't believe she's intentionally following a pattern, Anya," Giles sighed.  
  
"Oh no? You think not? Spike told us Glory said the Key was _new_ in the world, someone in the Slayer's circle. The monks made sure Dawn didn't look new -- but y'know who _does_ look pretty freakin' new? Chip-boy, Tara the Southern import, and -- oh yes! The former demon, with no documentation! You can see why I'm _just_ a _bit_ nervous!"  
  
"Maybe we ought to let slip it's Soldier Boy," Spike suggested. "Make like Buffy sent him off for his own protection. She'd have a merry chase through the jungle tryin' to find _him_, right? Buy us some time."  
  
Xander blinked. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but that's actually not a bad idea. I mean, in terms of new-ness, Riley beats out Spike _and_ Anya..."  
  
"I'm not _aiming_ a _hellgod_ at Riley," Buffy snapped, not skipping a beat in her pacing. "It's bad enough that all of you are involved."  
  
"She's spent months tryin' to find the Key in tiny ol' Sunnyhell, pet. You really think she'd be able to locate Captain Cardboard on a covert ops mission with nothin' but 'somewhere in the jungle' to go by?"  
  
Buffy's pacing grew more frantic. "I don't have any way to warn him... and we don't know if she'd even fall for it! We don't know how much Glory knows! Tara and Dawn are both female... they even sort of _look_ alike! She could have a description!"  
  
"You know what I don't understand?" Anya blurted. "Why _didn't_ they make the Key someone like Riley? I mean... why'd they make Dawn... Dawn? I mean, yeah, they wanted the Slayer to protect her, but... why not make her a big strapping man with enormous muscles and martial arts expertise? Why on earth would they make her young and helpless?"  
  
"Hey!" Dawn yelped in outrage.  
  
"Well... I'm sorry, sweetie, but you _are,_" Anya insisted. "They made you from Buffy, but didn't give you Slayer strength. They made you too young to drive a car or buy a gun or rent a hotel room in an anonymous city -- any of the things normal humans can do in self-defense. You're even too young to get a job and make money. It just doesn't make any sense."  
  
Giles attempted to wrest the conversation back on topic. "Spike, what _exactly_ did she say to you that indicated her knowledge of the Key's characteristics?"  
  
"Said it was new in the world. Said it couldn't be me, 'cause I was _impure_. Don't think she knew she was lookin' for a female, otherwise her minions wouldn'ta nabbed me... main thing was the purity thing."  
  
"Smart little monkeys," Tara whispered.  
  
Willow stroked her hair. "Baby... ssh..."  
  
"Smart little monkeys, making my Key a carpet-muncher..."  
  
Willow flinched, trying to draw Tara's head down onto her chest. "Sorry, guys, she's... well, you know..."  
  
"Hang on," Spike interrupted, rising from his seat with an upraised hand. "She's not rantin'... she's _quotin'_."  
  
Xander snorted. "Oh yeah, like..."  
  
Spike fixed him with a glare. "Over a century with Dru, mate. I _do_ know the difference."  
  
"What do you mean, she's _quoting_?"  
  
Spike knelt in front of Tara, brushing back a lock of her hair and affecting the soothing tones he'd used with Drusilla. "Here now, Princess... you've got your nice Willow right here and you're perfectly safe... why don't you tell us just what that nasty blonde lady said to you? Might make you feel better, love..."  
  
"Whatever, Spike, do you _seriously_ think that..."  
  
"Smart little monkeys, making my Key a carpet-muncher," Tara moaned. "Well -- one way to keep the Key pure, I guess. Oh, this is nice. Just hangin' out, just us girls. You like that sort of thing, don't you?"  
  
Spike's eyes grew wide in horror, and he turned to Willow. "Red, has Tara ever...?"  
  
"Ever... what?"  
  
"Ever... er... been with a bloke?"  
  
"No, I don't think she ever..." Willow broke off, eyebrows soaring. "Oh God, _that's_ not what she meant by 'pure', was it?"  
  
"I thought she meant bein' a vamp n' all, but..."  
  
"Well, _that_ would explain why they made Dawn so young," Anya added smugly. "If they wanted to ensure that she would not have penetrative sexual intercourse."  
  
"Ohmigod _eeeew_," Dawn shrieked.  
  
"Glory said to Tara that the key needed to be _kept_ pure," Giles said slowly. "Does that mean that Dawn could be, er... _rendered unusable_?"  
  
"Giles, don't _even_ go there," Buffy snapped.  
  
"I assure you, Buffy, the topic is just as distasteful to me as it is to you. However..."  
  
"Look, it doesn't matter whether Dawn _is_ the Key or not! As long as Glory thinks the Key is someone I care about, we're all in danger!"  
  
"I'd say in terms of what Glory wants to _do_ with the Key, it matters a heck of a lot," Anya insisted. "Hellgod, mystical Key that opens something... I smell apocalypse."  
  
"Protecting Dawn is, of course, our first priority," Giles said gently. "But preventing Glory from getting the Key is also of major importance."  
  
"If Dawnie wasn't the Key anymore, none of Glory's key-sniffers would work on her, right?" Willow asked. "The snakes and things. We could all, like... go to Paris, and she wouldn't be able to find us."  
  
"Oh, yeah? What are we supposed to do? Just pack up and move to France and never come back?"  
  
"Runnin' out of time," Spike said under his breath.  
  
Xander hit him on the shoulder. "What was that, Evil Dead?"  
  
"Just remembered somethin' else the bint said. She said she was runnin' out of time to find the Key. Maybe that means whatever lock the Nibblet fits in isn't gonna be around forever. Maybe we wouldn't have to _never_ come back... maybe we'd just have to stay gone until her deadline passes."  
  
"What's this 'we' shit, Kemosabe?" Xander glared.  
  
"Look, not sayin' I fancy a vacation with you lot, but if you think I'm stickin' around to be the only person who saw you last, you've miraculously managed to be dumber than you look."  
  
Giles frowned. "She didn't, perhaps, give an idea of how short her window of opportunity was?"  
  
"Seemed bloody frantic. I don't think it's long."  
  
"If we could... _deactivate_ Dawn, and escape until such time as Glory..."  
  
"Giles!" Buffy shrieked. "_Deactivate_? _Hello_, that is my fourteen-year-old _baby sister_!"  
  
"Who is sitting _right here_," Dawn protested. "Buffy... whatever Glory wants to do to me, I'm thinking it's probably a heck of a lot worse than _sex_."  
  
"You're too young. It's _disgusting_. I won't allow..."  
  
"Look what she did to _Tara_!" Dawn shrieked. "Look what she did to _Spike_! Anya's right -- she could be next! _Any_ of you could be next! Do you have any idea how _guilty_ I feel?"  
  
"Dawnie, it's not your fault..."  
  
"And if I could stop it by doing something simple that half the kids in my class are doing anyway, and I didn't? Then it _would_ be my fault!"  
  
"Half the children in your class -- good lord," Giles muttered.  
  
"In my time, girls Dawn's age were already married and having babies," Anya said helpfully.  
  
"In _your_ time, people thought evil spirits gave them chicken pox," Buffy spat back.  
  
Anya blinked and tried again. "Well, sometimes..."  
  
"No," Buffy bellowed. "A vast reservoir of no! We'll find another way. End of discussion."  
  
"Buffy..." Dawn tried.  
  
"No, Dawn. I believe I said end of discussion. Now, let's go back to the going to Paris thing..."  
  
"That's great," Dawn huffed, crossing her arms. "Run away. That's gonna work _so_ well when you're carrying a _homing beacon_ with you. Like playing hide-and-go-seek and leaving a _map_."  
  
"You are _not_ a homing beacon," Buffy insisted.  
  
"Oh yeah? Crazy people can see me! Big snakes can see me! How long before Glory just makes another key-finder-thingie that takes her straight to me?"  
  
"I'll kill it, like I killed the last one."  
  
"Oh yeah? And what if it's like, seventy stories tall and all Godzilla?"  
  
Buffy's lips compressed into a fine line. "Then it will take me a little bit longer to kill it."  
  
"I don't need your _permission_. You're not _mom_. I'll find a boy at school..."  
  
"Then you won't _go_ to school!"  
  
"Then I'll hit on the _mailman_," Dawn spat. "Or maybe I'll hit on _Angel_. He likes 'em underage... _right_?"  
  
Spike managed to turn his burst of laughter into a coughing fit. Xander glared anyway.  
  
"I was _seventeen_, Dawn," Buffy insisted. "It's a whole different thing."  
  
"It was your seventeenth _birthday_," Dawn countered. "Which means you were pretty much sixteen. And I'm almost fifteen. One year, big diff."  
  
"It is a... big diff!" Buffy exploded. "The answer is _no_ and the answer is _final_."  
  
"Dark," Tara moaned. "All dark... so much pain..."  
  
"Buffy," Giles said gently. "You do realize that whatever Glory plans to do to Dawn will almost certainly result in Dawn's _death_, don't you?"  
  
"I'll _protect_ her," Buffy growled.  
  
"Like you protected _Tara_?" Anya asked.  
  
"Tara was _alone_. We'll be together. From here on out, we're completely buddy system."  
  
"Yes, that makes me feel much better," Anya drawled. "We're protected from the unstoppable Hellgod by a means of preventing toddlers from getting lost in the mall. Why did I ever worry?"  
  
"Shut _up_!" Buffy cried. "I do not need this... this..."  
  
"Honesty?" Anya supplied.  
  
"New plan," Buffy announced. "We're leaving. _That_ suggestion, I like. Okay, we've got Xander's car, Giles' car, Mom's car and Spike's car..."  
  
"If you want to stick together, love... I know of a camper I can... borrow."  
  
"Good. Better. Spike, you do that." Buffy looked around the room, processing. "Willow, take Tara, get her medication and whatever you need to do lots of spells. Xander, Anya, you're on road trip patrol. Food, water, first aid, survival supplies. Giles -- weapons. Glory will be looking for _me_, so I'll go with Giles... Dawn, you go with Spike and get the camper-thing. Everybody clear? We'll meet back here in... let's say three hours? Will that give everyone enough time?"  
  
She looked around at the nodding heads, and tipped her own. "All right then. Back here, three hours."

* * *

"Wow," Dawn said, hopping into the passenger seat and smiling at Spike. "When you said 'borrow', I was totally sure you meant 'steal'."  
  
"Normally, that'd be a safe assumption, Nibblet." Spike grinned at her, turning on the headlights. "In this case, however, legal was faster. Clem loves his yearly trips to Mexico. Brought me back a blanket last year. Can't ever have too many blankets."  
  
Dawn chewed her thumbnail. "I thought demons were supposed to be evil?"  
  
"'Spose he is, by your sister's definition... soulless n' all." Spike peered at the dashboard clock. "Got two hours n' forty to kill... you wanna stop off an' get some clothes, maybe somethin' to read on the trip? Oughta foil these windows before sunup. Check an' see if that telly's got a player, would you? Maybe we could nick a Playstation..."  
  
"Spike... you're evil, right?"  
  
"Evil as they come, heart as black as tar, ruthless as..." Spike paused to light a cigarette.  
  
"So you, like... don't have any morals, right?"  
  
"Wouldn't say _that_. Just got _evil_ ones." Spike blew smoke in Dawn's face. "See? Secondhand smoke, _very_ wicked."  
  
"Eww. No, I mean... you're a rule-breaker, right? A rebel? Don't do what society says?"  
  
"Damn straight. Now put on your seatbelt."  
  
Dawn complied. "And some rules are _stupid_, right? Or arbitrary. Like, in England, they drive on the left. Here, they drive on the right. No reason, just a decision."  
  
"Sucks for us lefties, too."  
  
"Exactly. And like... you can't be President unless you're thirty-five. Who picked _that_ number? Like on your thirty-fifth birthday, all of a sudden you know stuff about foreign policy?"  
  
Spike grinned. "Not shaggin' you, Bit. But nice lead-up."  
  
"Why _not_? What kind of evil guy _are_ you? C'mon, statutory rape... big evil fun!"  
  
"Yeah... 'til big sis crams a tree through my chest."  
  
"I so totally wouldn't tell her..."  
  
"Answer's still no, love. Be bloody weird. And you copped it back at Harris'... playin' with his veal was more Angelus' style than mine."  
  
"You thought _Buffy _was all sexy when _she_ was sixteen. I saw the way you stared at her."  
  
"Technically, you did no such thing."  
  
"You just don't think I'm pretty," Dawn pouted.  
  
"Nibblet, you're bloody gorgeous an' gettin' more so by the day."  
  
"But not as much as _Buffy_."  
  
"You're prettier'n Buffy, which is somethin' you're never repeatin' to anyone."  
  
"Really?" Dawn exclaimed in delight.  
  
"Really really. Now check n' see if the telly's got a player, yeah? We'll rent some videos, never take 'em back." He shot her a leer. "See? Still evil."

* * *

"You _rented movies_," Buffy said in disbelief. "We're on the run from a _god_, and you went by _Blockbuster_."  
  
"This is perfect!" Anya exclaimed. "Cause I brought popcorn."  
  
Buffy whirled on her. "Anya, you were supposed to get _survival food_. Things with... protein, and stuff."  
  
"And we _did_. But we already _had_ the popcorn, so I brought it. And it all worked out, didn't it?"  
  
"Ugh. Giles, hand me that bag of weapons, and..." Buffy stopped, blinking. "What are those?"  
  
Giles clutched his armful of tomes protectively. "Just a few books..."  
  
"Oh my God! We're _on the run_! We don't have _time_ to... to _read_ and _eat popcorn_ and watch --"  
  
"_Inventing The Abbots_," Dawn supplied helpfully.  
  
"I don't _care_ what movies you --" Buffy turned to look at Dawn. "Why'd you get _that_? That's so depressing."  
  
"Spike got Monty Python..."  
  
"Excellent!" Xander cried, then tried for stern. "I mean... _irresponsible_!" He leaned over the back of the driver's seat, lowering his voice. "Did you get _Life of Brian_?"  
  
"Giles, we don't have_ time_ for..."  
  
"These books all relate to the Key, Buffy," Giles said mildly. "I thought I could use our travel time to do additional research."  
  
"Plus, nice big thick book like that?" Willow added. "Klunk, right over the head!"  
  
Giles stroked the books as if to reassure them that they would be used for no such thing.  
  
"Oh, for God's sake, _get in_," Buffy snapped. "Spike? _Drive_."  
  
"Yes, Master," he drawled, cranking the engine.  
  
"Oooh, look!" Anya exclaimed from behind them. "What a tiny yet efficient little bathroom!"  
  
"Does it look too tiny for, say, my big head over the bowl?" Xander groaned.  
  
"Xander! You've turned an unappetizing shade of green!" Anya reached out, taking him by the shoulder. "I will rub your back while you vomit, as an expression of my love. Then perhaps we can have sex and take your mind off your nausea."  
  
"Dirty, dirty, disgusting," Tara moaned, clawing at the formica of the booth.  
  
Giles opened his first book with a heavy sigh. "My thoughts exactly."

* * *

"I thought Slayers were supposed to be _interesting_," Dawn sighed, running a finger down the page of the weighty Watcher's Diary. "I mean, they fight stuff all the time. So why is this so _boring_?"  
  
"Because _Slayers_ are interesting, but _Watchers_ are dull and tweedy," Buffy grinned.  
  
"I'd test Willow's 'klunk' theory if I wasn't so glad to see you in a better mood," Giles replied. "To what do we owe this resurgence of cheer? _Please_ don't say the Spam, my stomach is still infuriated with me."  
  
"No, the Spam is really so not it. It's just... every mile between us and Glory, that's a little bit better that I feel. And as you know, Buffy spells relief with Watcher jokes."  
  
"Don't know how 'tweedy' they can be when they're so freakin' _homicidal_," Dawn insisted. "Oops, this Slayer isn't behaving -- let's kill her and get another one!"  
  
"You see, I'm really quite progressive in my thinking," Giles smiled. "Overindulgence in tea and constant migraines are a far more humane way of coping with a willful Slayer."  
  
"Many thanks for not killing me," Buffy laughed. "Do they make that Hallmark card?"  
  
"Check this out," Dawn said, scanning a passage. "They killed this chick in the twenties just 'cause she was dating a vampire. Guess you're lucky _that_ guy wasn't your Watcher -- huh, Buffy?"  
  
"No way. Seriously?"  
  
"Yes way." Dawn lifted the book, reading aloud. "_Miranda Hollingsworth was terminated by the Council for being Claimed by a vampire, thus rendering her impure and unable to be the Slayer_. Talk about your judgemental...! And then on the next page, they whack some chick for..."  
  
"_Whack_?" Buffy said incredulously. "_What_ have you been watching on TV?"  
  
"Normal stuff!" Dawn blurted. "_Not_ Cinemax!"  
  
"Uh-huh," Buffy scoffed, eyes narrowed. "Sounds like _someone's_ gonna..."  
  
"Guys?" Willow interrupted, standing in the doorway to the bedroom. "I hate to break up the, um, fun fight over verbs, but Tara's doing that _thing_ again... the babble that's not so much?"

* * *

Tara squirmed on the bed, sheets tangling around her, her head thrashing back and forth. "Coming for it... going to find it... coming to find it..."  
  
"I was going to give her more meds," Willow said miserably, "But then I thought... maybe you should hear this first."  
  
"Tara?" Giles said softly, taking her hand. "_What's_ coming? Coming for _what_?"  
  
"Pure green," Tara whispered. "Pure green energy. It wants it. It's coming for it. Coming so fast..."  
  
"What's coming, Tara?" Buffy's voice cracked.  
  
"Angry doggie. So angry. Big doggie. So many heads... so many teeth... faster and faster..."  
  
"_The Key is also susceptible to necromanced animal detection, particularly those of canine or serpent construct_," Dawn whispered, tugging on Giles' sleeve. "Giles? _Canine_ construct?"  
  
"Cujo the Key-Sniffer," Xander said in horror.  
  
"So many heads... so many teeth..."

"It sounds rather more like _Cerebus_ the Key-Sniffer," Giles sighed. "Either way, it can't be good."  
  
"C'mon, Giles..." Buffy tried, "We're in a _moving vehicle_. We can outrun a _dog_, right? Right?"  
  
"Big doggie," Tara moaned. "Such a big, big doggie..."  
  
Xander frowned. "Or maybe _not._"  
  
Tara bolted upright suddenly, staring at Dawn. "Pure green energy..."  
  
"Yeah, well," Dawn said bitterly, glaring at Buffy. "Maybe this green energy needs to be a little less _pure_."  
  
"Hey, don't look at me," Buffy snapped.  
  
"And definitely don't look at _me_," Xander yelped. "Why are you looking at me? Make her stop looking at me!"  
  
"Yes," Anya said firmly. "Don't look at Xander like that. He's mine. Have intercourse with Spike or Giles. They're single."  
  
"Anya," Giles stuttered, "That's hardly..."  
  
"Giles?" Dawn asked, crossing her arms. "What's a vampire claim?"  
  
"Er, it's a... why do you want to know?"  
  
"That book said that Slayer who let the vampire Claim her became too impure to be a Slayer."  
  
"Well yes, a Claim does involve both parties taking a small part of each other inside them... I suppose that would render a Slayer..."

"Do I have to spell it out with _blocks_?" Dawn snapped.  
  
"No way," Buffy said. "No way are you doing some creepy mating ritual with _Spike_... Dawn, he's evil!"  
  
"A Claim is not always a mating ritual, Buffy," Giles said. "It's not that well understood, but I believe it is merely a bond, a bond that can be..."  
  
"You could ask the soddin'_ vampire_ these questions, y'know!" bellowed a voice from across the Winnebago.  
  
"Am I going crazy?" Xander asked. "That's the second time today I've agreed with him."

* * *

"Doesn't _have_ to be a romantic thing," Spike explained, peering out the windshield into the night. "It's a bond, yeah. A promise, a connection. An attachment, like."  
  
"Spike and I are already attached," Dawn added. "He's my best friend."  
  
A shocked, pleased smile spread across Spike's face before he remembered he was a badass. "That right, Bit?"  
  
"So it wouldn't be that big of a deal... right?"  
  
"What would it involve, and what _exactly_ would it do to her?" Giles asked.  
  
"I'd have to bite her, drink a little bit of her blood, n' vice versa. After that... I've never Claimed anyone before, all right, so this is all stuff I've heard..."  
  
"Not even Drusilla?" Xander asked.  
  
"Not Dru. She didn't want to." Spike's sneer didn't quite hide the pain in his eyes. "First loyalty was always to 'Daddy' Angelus."  
  
"I've seen vampires Claim people who weren't mates before," Anya said. "I knew this vampire in the 1500's. You would have liked him, Giles. He read a lot of books."  
  
"Yes, I automatically adore the literate," Giles muttered.  
  
"Anyway, he was all devoted to his sister. She died, and asked him to take care of her children. So he Claimed them. Gave them a bond, helped him keep track of them."  
  
"I thought vampires always killed their entire families?" Buffy asked, confused.  
  
"No," Spike snapped, "Wankers named _Angelus_ kill their entire families. And sometimes, hypothetically speakin', one might turn a particular family member... if they were, say, _very_ ill with oh, tuberculosis or somethin', an' you weren't yet familiar with the vampin' process. I didn't kill mine... Angelus killed Dru's before she was ever turned... hell, Harm still does holidays with hers. Kills store clerks to buy presents, of course, but..."  
  
"I think that's officially enough information on that topic," Xander interrupted.  
  
Giles frowned. "Keep track of them...? Anya, what did you mean by that?"  
  
"Apparently there's a sort of spidey-sense. Like... I mean... Spike, when you went to go find Drusilla after the chaos demon thing, how'd you know where to look?"  
  
"Just knew. Like I know when the sun's comin' up... can't really explain it. Wasn't like 'oh, she's havin' a quad-mocha at the Starbucks in SoHo', y'know? More like, 'Go west, young vamp'."  
  
"Well," Giles said. "That could be... _tremendously_ helpful."  
  
"Spike would be like that thing where you clap and it beeps to tell you where your keys are?" Xander asked.  
  
"A rather different Key, but... it would seem, yes."  
  
"Hey," Buffy protested. "Evil, soulless, Master Vampire with a _radar_ for my little sister? Have to vote no."  
  
"Geez, Buffy," Dawn groaned. "You make him _babysit_ me all the time! Now he's suddenly scary?"  
  
"I'm _always_ scary," Spike protested.  
  
"Shut up. You are so not."  
  
"Am too."  
  
"Are not."  
  
"Am too!"  
  
"Are not!"  
  
"_Stop_," Giles begged. "Buffy, Glory seeks to kidnap Dawn. If she succeeds, Spike having a sense of her location... even a vague one... is a potential tool I don't believe we should pass up."  
  
"Hello, Vampire Slayer here! Just really not on board with feeding my sister to one."  
  
"You fed yourself to Angel to save him," Xander pointed out. "And you were _gonna_ kill Faith and feed her to Angel..."  
  
"Could you _not_ be memory boy right now?"  
  
"Well, I'm sorry!" Xander snapped. "I'm not exactly kicking up my heels at the thought of Spike getting fangy with Dawn either, okay? But I don't think the bigass, necromanced puppy chasing us wants to play _fetch_, and as ways of dirtying up the pure green Dawn go, I'm liking this better than the whole Lolita option."  
  
"It's one bite, Buffy," Dawn added. "You've been bitten, like, three times! And geez, how many times did _Riley_ get bitten? For _fun_?"  
  
"Look, you're all forgetting something," Willow chimed in. "Spike _can't_ bite her. Chip, remember? He wanted to bite me, and he couldn't..."  
  
"Chip won't go off if I don't mean to hurt her," Spike murmured. "Meant to hurt you, Red."  
  
Xander's eyes narrowed. "How in the hell are you gonna sink your big fat fangs into her shoulder and not hurt her?"  
  
"My fangs aren't _fat_."  
  
"Sorry. Your slender, toned, attractive, _cellulite-free_ fangs. Still."  
  
"Spike," Giles raised his voice. "Could you, or could you not, do it?"  
  
"I could do it, if Dawn were willing," Spike said carefully, eyes on Buffy.  
  
"Dawn is willing," Dawn said, Resolve Face in place.  
  
"Buffy?" Spike asked. "Won't do this if you say no, love."  
  
"It's this or fight the helldog?" Buffy sighed. "Fine. _Fine._ But Spike? You take one more _drop_ of blood than you need to take, and..."  
  
"Dusty, stakey death. Got it, Slayer." Spike pulled off on the side of the road, turning the engine off. "Someone else wanna drive?"  
  
Dawn's eyes flew wide. "You, um... gonna bite me _now_?"  
  
"No time like the present, considerin' the canine. Let's go in the back."  
  
"Uh-uh, Evil Dead." Xander put a restraining hand on Spike's chest. "We all watch."  
  
"I'd... kinda rather be alone with Spike for this," Dawn said. "I mean... I don't know if I can drink blood with everybody staring at me. Besides, I mean... we're gonna be, like, five feet away behind a paper-thin door. It's just... privacy. Y'know."  
  
"Privacy. Right." Xander removed his hand. "If I hear _one_ whimper..."

* * *

Dawn and Spike walked into the back room, and Spike slid the panel closed behind them. "You nervous, Nibblet?"  
  
"Kinda. But I mean, Buffy's done this before. I'm _way_ tougher than her."  
  
"Right," Spike grinned awkwardly. "So, er... how you wanna do this? Ought to get comfortable an' all that..."  
  
"Well... I need to reach your neck, right? I can't reach your neck."  
  
"Kay." Spike sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling Dawn into his lap. "This all right?"  
  
"Yeah. The sitting, I mean. This is... weird."  
  
"You said it. Look, pidge... you're probably gonna make noise, an' I don't want Harris comin' in here and stakin' me, so... you feel the need to get vocal, you just bite down on my hand, all right?"  
  
Tears sprang to Dawn's eyes. "It's gonna hurt that bad?"  
  
"Different ways to bite someone, Sweet Bit." He brushed a lock of hair back from her face. "Only gonna be able to do one of those an' not set the bleedin' chip off. You might make a bit of noise, but... s'not gonna be from pain."  
  
"Oh," Dawn nodded, and then her eyes flew wide: "Oh! I didn't... _oh_."  
  
"Might be less scary if you don't look at my face, love," Spike said gently. "You ready?"  
  
Dawn took a deep breath, then pulled her hair back from the side of her neck. "Yeah."  
  
Spike turned her face away from him, resting his forehead on her collarbone, breathing deeply, bringing his game face forward. He sucked gently on Dawn's jugular, not sinking his fangs in yet; Dawn let out a startled little gasp at the contact and grabbed for his hand.  
  
_That feels... wow. So not bad.  
  
_"One," Spike murmured against her throat, tickling her ear and sending little shivers everywhere.  
  
He never got to two, burying his fangs into her vein before she could tense up.  
  
_Ow, ow... oh... oh wow... oh wow..._  
  
This was so _not_ what she expected, this was... oh God, it was so _warm_, heat flooding into her stomach, every part of her suddenly waking up, her heartbeat echoing, mirrored in a much lower place, and when had she run her fingers into Spike's hair and pulled him closer, why was she squirming wildly in his lap in frantic need of some unexplained _something_, why was her heartbeat getting louder and louder and why was it so hard to think and her back was arching and it was hard to breathe and  
  
_oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh oh oh OH OH OH...  
  
_Dawn's head snapped back, her mouth opening in a gasp of surprised pleasure, her fingers clawing into Spike's scalp and bicep, and she felt the moan burbling up from inside her and _bite down_ she needed to _bite down_ he'd said to _bite down_ and she pulled roughly at his t-shirt, pulling it away from his neck...  
  
When had she? Biting and blood and _blood_ and oh God oh God...  
  
And she broke inside, shattering, his arms tightening around her as she thrashed and _oh my God, _nothing was this good, not chocolate not ice cream not...  
  
Thought returned, the flares of red and gold slowly fading from behind her eyes, and Dawn realized she was _drinking, _swallowing... that her teeth were firmly clamped on Spike's neck, skin broken and sucking for all that she was worth. That was _blood_ in her mouth, _Spike's_ blood, and it actually didn't taste all that bad, it...  
  
For that matter, the whisper-soft moaning noises Spike was making against her throat? Didn't sound too much like pain. She withdrew her teeth; after a moment, he followed suit, gasping.  
  
"That was..." she whispered.  
  
"Yeah," he chuckled softly. "Bit unexpected, huh?"  
  
She bit her lip, then licked the blood from it; Spike quickly looked away. "You said I'd make noise..."  
  
"Thought you wouldn't hate it. Didn't expect you to... yeah."  
  
_What do you know? Vampires can blush, even in game face._  
  
Dawn raised her hand, wiping the blood from Spike's mouth with her thumb... then trailing her fingers over his brow ridges in wonder.  
  
"Sorry 'bout that, Nibblet. Didn't mean for you to see me like..." Spike took a deep breath. "Should have realized you'd have Slayer's blood. Does things to a fella."  
  
"I can tell," Dawn laughed, bumping her hip against the hardness beneath her.  
  
"Right." Spike looked mortified, lifting her off his lap and setting her on the bed next to him. "None of that. Bloody inappropriate."  
  
"Y'know, your face changes back when you get all prim and proper," Dawn teased.  
  
"M'not prim n' proper, I'm just... that wasn't supposed to happen."  
  
"Well... you didn't hurt me. That's good, right?"  
  
"Didn't mean to not hurt you quite _that_ much," Spike grumbled.  
  
"So... I belong to you now, right? And you belong to me?"  
  
Spike relaxed a fraction. "Looks like."  
  
"Well... let's go parade me in front of Tara, see what she sees. Oh... wait." Dawn used her sleeve to get a drop of blood off Spike's chin. "Don't want Scooby squick."  
  
The collective sigh of relief when they walked back into the main room of the camper was lost on neither of them; Buffy rushed up to Dawn, yanking her head to the side to examine the bite marks.  
  
Buffy glared at Spike. "This is going to scar."  
  
"It's _supposed_ to," he glared right back, sliding a finger down his own neck. "Got one that matches, don't I?"  
  
"Geez, Dawnie," Willow said, examining the bite-marks on Spike. "You got him good."  
  
"Pretty," Tara sighed, oblivious of seven heads whipping towards her in dismay.  
  
"Oh no," Willow cried, "It didn't work?"  
  
"Both of them," Tara smiled wistfully. "Pretty, pretty. Dark green and black, all swirly. Both of them."  
  
"Dear lord," Giles muttered.  
  
"Wait a minute," Xander's head swivelled between Spike and Dawn. "They've _both_ got green Key stuff in them now?"  
  
Spike processed this a moment. "Let me off at the next exit."  
  
"You're _running away_?" Buffy challenged. "Get a little green in you and you turn tail? Some Big Bad you are."  
  
"Nooo," Spike said slowly, looking like not hitting her took massive effort. "Gonna nick a car, drive back towards the angry puppy. If he's trackin' the Key energy, he'll follow _me_, an' I'll lead him away from where you lot are goin'. Long as you're further away than I am, he ought to head for me, yeah?"  
  
"That's the third time today he's made a hell of a lot of sense," Xander sighed. "Slap me."  
  
"Glad to," Spike glared.  
  
Buffy paused, making a decision. "You heard him, Giles. Pull off at the next exit."  
  
"You're gonna fight the evil dog all by yourself?" Dawn asked, lip trembling.  
  
"Not plannin' to fight him so much as lead a merry chase, love," Spike said gently. "I'll be all right."  
  
The Winnebago lurched to a stop at the edge of an Exxon station, and Spike grabbed his duster from the back of the driver's seat, marching out the door with Dawn tumbling after.  
  
"Spike!" she snapped, grabbing him by the bicep. "You weren't even gonna say goodbye?"  
  
He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Didn't quite know what to say, pidge."  
  
"You could give me a _hug_ or something, you big doof." Dawn flung her arms around him, and Spike patted her tentatively. "I'm gonna see you again, right?"  
  
"Sure you are," Spike replied, not sounding entirely convinced.  
  
"Soon?"  
  
"Er... well, suppose you'll be in France or whatnot, and..."  
  
"You're _mine_, right? Promise me I'll see you again."  
  
"Can't make that kind of promise, Nibblet. I can promise to try."  
  
Dawn hugged him tighter. "I guess I can live with that."  
  
"Dawn?" Buffy called. "Come on!"  
  
Dawn squeezed Spike's hand quickly, then turned back towards the Winnebago. Buffy herded her back on, shutting the door behind them and turning towards the driver's seat.  
  
"Giles? Airport. As quickly as possible."  
  
Spike stood in the parking lot, watching the Winnebago recede until it was a tiny dot on the horizon... then gone.  
  
Right. Car-theft; then bumper cars with Hell-Puppy.  
  
This should be a slap and a tickle.


	2. Runs In The Family

London, England  
Three Years Later  
  
The Council chamber was unspeakably hot, the rain pelting the windows the only pleasant sound in a room that boomed with echoing accusations, rheumy coughs and shocked whispers, all directed at the two small figures encircled by a sea of tweed.  
  
"And... after fleeing Sunnydale, in a... _Winnebago_, borrowed from a... _Phlopi demon_ named... _Clem..._"  
  
Travers was wincing with such regularity, he seemed to be performing some exotic facial dance... or possibly trying to dislodge something. "You allowed _William the Bloody_... the _Slayer of Slayers..._ to place a _vampiric Claim..._ on the _Key_."  
  
"Which both deactivated Dawn and infused Spike with enough Key essence to allow him to act as decoy," Giles said evenly. "An effective wartime decision which most certainly averted an apocalypse."  
  
"And Spike made sure Clem got his Winnebago back," Buffy added helpfully.  
  
"After which you _fled_ the _country_," Travers continued, pacing importantly around the table. "Leaving William the Bloody to re-enact _The Dukes of Hazzard_ across the southwestern United States... in a _stolen_ Porsche 911... pursued by both Glory _and_ the Knights of Byzantium... during which he _somehow_ managed to learn what _you_ had not... that Glory had a human host."  
  
"She had this... mindfoggy thing," Buffy protested. "Spike wasn't human, so he could see the change..."  
  
"A human host which the vampire, due to his cerebral implant, was unable to kill," Travers interrupted. "Leading to his decision to enlist the services of the Rogue Watcher Wyndham-Pryce and the -- if such a thing is even _possible_ -- even _more _infamous vampire Angelus."  
  
"Angel has a _soul_," Buffy insisted. "And a whole team of really good..."  
  
"Ah, yes," Travers snapped. "The _gang leader_, a Pylean _Deathwok demon_, an _actress_, and a _robotic_ _sex toy_ that had been reanimated and reprogrammed by a... gibberingly insane former scientist with a... taco fetish."  
  
"I'm told Fred feels much better now," Buffy smiled prettily.  
  
"And even _after_ the human host had been slain by the..." wince, wince, wince, "... robotic _sex toy_, _you_ remained abroad... leaving the Hellmouth guarded solely by the _soulless vampire_ and the _robot_."  
  
"Not... _solely_..."  
  
"You are correct, of _course_, Miss Summers. Your _friends_ returned almost immediately after Glory's demise, did they not?"  
  
"Well... Anya wanted to re-open the shop, and Xander had missed a lot of work, and Will had school..."  
  
"Ah, yes. Retail. Construction. College. All _sacred_ callings, passed down from time _immemorial_, that _would_ require a prompt return to the Hellmouth. One _might_ think you would find that... _inspirational_."  
  
"I've been slaying," Buffy said defensively.  
  
"Indeed. In _Paris_, a city with one of the _lowest_ vampire populations in the world." Travis grabbed onto his waistcoat, leaning forward to enhance his sneer. "According to our reports, you've kept quite busy, Miss Summers. Shopping. Sightseeing. Frequenting nightclubs."  
  
"I patrolled."  
  
"Indeed. I'm sure you kept the world terribly safe from marauding _croissants _and_ stylish handbags_."  
  
"That's hardly fair," Giles bristled.  
  
"What might be considered _unfair_, Rupert, is you drawing a Council salary and using it to spoil your Slayer rotten. This is exactly the kind of indulgent behavior which resulted in your first termination, only far more outrageous."  
  
"She has been through..."  
  
"A great deal, of _course_. Were we speaking of weeks, perhaps even a few months, I might be more understanding. But I am not a fool, Rupert, and the Council does not appreciate being _used_."  
  
"Look, Quentin," Buffy snapped, "We've been through this idle threat thing before, okay? You need me."  
  
"Actually, Miss Summers... that is no longer entirely true. Faith is due to be released next month; her behavior has been... _exemplary_." Quentin smiled in satisfaction. "And I must say... if you feel that a _robot_ can perform your job adequately... I see no reason why Faith should not excel."  
  
Travers slapped his hands down on the table in front of Buffy. "You told us concern for the Key's _safety_ was keeping you away... and then we learned of her... _deactivation_. Would you, perhaps, _care_ to explain _why_ you have both been _wretchedly_ neglecting your duty... _and_ hiding that fact from the Council?"  
  
Buffy squirmed in her seat, Giles polished his glasses, and Travers moved in for the kill.  
  
"Or perhaps you would prefer to return to Sunnydale... immediately?"

* * *

"Actually, yeah, I'm really glad to be going back to the States," Dawn said, tucking a wind-blown lock of hair behind her ear. "I have a lot of friends there that I miss, y'know? It's been just me and Buffy and Giles for a long time now... it'll be good to go back to Sunnydale."  
  
"_Sunnydale_," Pieter repeated, trying the word out. "Sounds incredibly Norman Rockwell."  
  
"Oh, you so have no idea," Dawn laughed, grabbing onto the railing and leaning back. "Buffy's bummed, though."  
  
"Doesn't she have friends there as well?"  
  
"Oh, yeah! It's just... well... she has this _job_ there, and she doesn't like it much. She's kinda in deep crap with her superiors, and uh... it's, um, stressful. Lots of on-the-job injury, y'know? I think she's been kinda in denial-land that her break had to end sometime. There was always some reason we had to stay just a little while longer... you know what I mean?"  
  
Pieter ran his fingers up Dawn's forearm softly. "Well, I _am_ sorry that you're leaving England before I... got a chance to know you better."  
  
"Sucky, huh?" Dawn said lightly, moving a few inches further away. "What can I say -- I'm nomad-girl. And hey -- you can _totally_ write me."  
  
Pieter moved a little closer, his fingers rising to trace the line of her bicep. "That wasn't... exactly... the kind of knowledge I meant."  
  
"Y'know what? I'm getting kinda cold. Maybe we should go back inside."  
  
"If you're cold, I could..." Pieter let his hands trail up towards her shoulder. "Hey,_ that's_ an interesting scar, how'd you get..."  
  
The moment his fingers grazed it, Pieter suddenly discovered that his hand had changed position entirely... clamped rather fiercely behind his own back, the wrist bent at an ever-more-painful angle.  
  
"Not to be rude, Pete," Dawn smiled dangerously, "But... don't _ever_ touch that. And take me home. _Now_."

* * *

"Spike? Spike? _Spike_?"  
  
Spike shook his head, turning towards the passenger seat. "Yeah, love?"  
  
"You vamped out and started growling for no discernible reason. You woke me up."  
  
He raised an eyebrow. "You don't sleep."  
  
"I turned off my life-simulators in order to be able to process the scenario Angel gave me more efficiently as you drove. Actuarial science is a fascinating discipline."  
  
"Right. Well... time to wake up anyway, pet. We've arrived at Casa Poofda," Spike drawled, tossing his cigarette out the window.  
  
He opened her door for her, and the Bot stepped neatly out of the DeSoto, smoothing down her dress with both hands.  
  
"I wish to thank you for taking me shopping, Spike. Do you think my new clothing will be pleasing to Clem? I sometimes worry that the tightness of my external wrapper means that he will not find me attractive."  
  
Spike stuck another cigarette between his lips, eyebrow soaring. "You _worry_ now?"  
  
"It is a relatively new development. Fred believes it is a natural side-effect of the advancements in my AI. My programming becomes stuck for many clock cycles, presenting the same data despite it having been logically disproved."  
  
"Bloody hell. Just don't start askin' me if that dress makes you look fat."  
  
Dismay crossed the Bot's face. "_Does_ it? I was not aware I had the capacity to modulate my form with food intake!"  
  
"You look fantastic, love. Don't..." Spike smiled ruefully, "... _worry_ about it."  
  
"I am excited to report my findings to Angel," the Bot said eagerly, then noted the constriction patterns of Spike's facial muscles. "I still prefer _you_, Spike. Angel is bloody stupid and his hair goes straight up; Fred found that part of my programming too amusing to remove."  
  
They stepped into the hotel lobby, Spike stumbling backwards from the sudden attack upon his knees, then grinning and hefting up the projectile toddler by the straps of his Oshkosh overalls. "Well, now... if it isn't my favorite uncle."  
  
Spike vamped out, sending Connor into paroxysms of giggles.  
  
"Also your favorite nephew," the Bot said helpfully. "As well as your favorite great-nephew and great-uncle. Also your favorite great-great-great-nephew and great-great-great-uncle, but _not_ your great-great-uncle or great-great-nephew, because _you_ are your own great-great-uncle and great-great-nephew. It is a recursive process, rather like calculating pi, that I must eventually terminate to make room for other processes to spawn."  
  
The Bot nudged Spike gently in the arm. "Get it? _Spawn_? It's very funny."  
  
Angel appeared in a flash of vampiric speed, grabbing the cigarette and hurling it across the lobby. "How many times do I have to tell you not to _smoke_ around him?"  
  
"Wasn't even _lit_, you tosser," Spike grumbled, melting back into human-face and passing Connor into Angel's arms.  
  
Angel cradled Connor protectively. "Well, I don't want him to get... dangerous ideas."  
  
"What, like fightin' demons an' stoppin' apocalypses?"  
  
"See, processes are like children. They even call them child processes and the creation of them spawning. And Connor is a child." The Bot looked between Angel and Spike morosely, her lower lip pushing into a pout. "Willow would have gotten it."  
  
"It was _very_ funny," Fred smiled, giving the Bot a hug. "You can't blame them, they're old and crotchety. Angel can barely work a cellphone."  
  
"Spike and I brought you a present, Fred," the Bot grinned back, looking expectantly at Spike, who obediently untied the back of her sundress and popped the latch on her rear panel, detaching a hard drive and passing it over.  
  
"Whoo. That always gives me a head rush." The Bot pointed towards the hard drive in Fred's hands. "400 gigabytes of Wolfram & Hart internal files, indexed for your pleasure. Just call me Jonny Lee Miller."  
  
Fred raised an eyebrow, and Spike explained. "Bloke from _Hackers_. Bloody loves the flick."  
  
"They pretend to infiltrate a corporation's intranet by making constipated faces at screen savers," the Bot giggled. "It's very amusing."  
  
"I bet," Fred smiled.  
  
"Also, Spike says that Angelina Jolie has championship dick-sucking lips."  
  
Angel clapped his hands over Connor's ears.  
  
"Don't close up yet... I have something for you, too." Fred set the hard drive on her desk, picking up another one and connecting it to the Bot's cables.  
  
"Ooooh! Dixie Chicks mp3's! And that G'rothlak translation, and..." the Bot's eyes flew wide just as Fred finished snapping the hard drive into place, and she tore across the room, launching herself into Wesley's arms. "You found it, you found it!"  
  
"Honey, I'm not done... closing you up..." Fred burst into laughter as Wesley tried frantically to stay repressed beneath the weight of exuberant robot-love.  
  
"Spike, he _found_ it, he really _found_ it!"  
  
"Think it'll work, Percy?" Spike crossed the lobby, snapping the Bot's panel shut and re-tying her dress.  
  
"I think it has a good chance to," Wesley smiled, pushing up his glasses. "And unlike the last two I found, this one won't harm Tara further if it backfires."  
  
Fred reached out, taking the Bot's hand. "You ready for your makeover?"  
  
The Bot followed her up the stairs. "I am. De-Buffy me!"  
  
Angel watched them go, brooding fiercely. "I can't believe we didn't have Fred do this sooner."  
  
"Helped keep the demons in line, havin' her look like the Slayer," Spike shrugged.  
  
"How do you stand it?" Angel whispered.  
  
"Stand what?"  
  
"Being around... that... _thing_ every day. A mockery of her, wearing her face..."  
  
"Hell of a lot nicer to me than the real Buffy, for starters," Spike grinned. "Got her own personality now, good company, dead honest, bloody useful what with all that data she's got loaded... like havin' a kickass fightin' Rupert with tits." He shot Angel a teasing look. "An' she never gives me crap about smokin' inside."  
  
"It doesn't bother you," Angel said incredulously. "Even seeing her with that... _Phlopi demon_?  
  
"Clem's good to her, and 'sides... she's _not_ Buffy. Learned _that_ right off. Even less like her now, what with all the tinkerin' Fred's done. Still... think the literal plastic surgery is a good idea. Be weird, havin' two Buffys about."  
  
"You didn't think that when you had her _made_," Angel said pointedly.  
  
"Not fightin' you about this again, you wanker. Where you get off bein' all possessive, anyhow? _Tell_ me you're not plannin' to ruin a damn good thing with the cheerleader."

Angel glared. "And how about you, Spike? You avert a few apocalypses, win over the Scooby Club, and you think Buffy's gonna, what, fall off the plane and into your arms?"  
  
"Not bloody likely."  
  
"So _why_, Spike? Willow says you haven't dated anyone since Buffy left..."  
  
Spike fluttered his eyelashes. "Savin' myself for _you_, Angelus. Never could resist that luscious Neanderthal forehead."  
  
"Shut up. I'm trying to have a serious discussion with you here."  
  
"That'd be your first mistake."  
  
Angel reached over, touching a finger to the scar on Spike's neck, laughing as Spike leaped away.  
  
"Hey! Lay off!"  
  
"It's not _Buffy_, is it?" Angel grinned. "I think maybe she's your cover story. Bit off a little bit more than you could chew a few years ago, huh? Multiple puns intended?"  
  
"Piss off. Nibblet's like my little sis."  
  
"Well, _technically_," Angel said innocently, "_Dru_ was your _mom_..."  
  
"You are a nasty, nasty, sick, nasty bastard."  
  
Angel smirked. "Runs in the family."


	3. Force of Habit

"Buffy?" Dawn whispered, maneuvering her carryon so she could lean into her ear. "Um... who the hell is _that_?"  
  
At the edge of the small crowd at the terminal gate, a pretty, petite redhead was holding up a large posterboard sign that read "WELCOME HOME, BUFFY DAWN & GUYLES!"  
  
"Dear Lord," Giles muttered. "I go away for three years, and they forget how to spell my name?"  
  
"It's a joke!" the girl cried happily, moving towards them. "Guy-les. Get it? Because Warren did not program me to pronounce your name properly! My programming has since been corrected, _Giles_. See? Welcome home, _Giles_. It's nice to see you again, _Giles_. I made the sign myself. It's in Emmascript. That's my favorite font."  
  
"You're... you're the _Bot_," Giles stammered.  
  
"Yes, I am! You do not recognize me because Fred altered my facial structure so I would no longer resemble Buffy. I have brown eyes now and a modified nose and Angelina Jolie championship dick-sucking lips."  
  
Giles blinked. "How very nice for you."  
  
"Oh, they're not for me. They're for Clem. He's my boyfriend now. I no longer have sex with Spike, although I have offered many times."  
  
"You're quite certain you were programmed by _Fred_ and not _Anya_?"  
  
"Anya's computer expertise is generally limited to financial and accounting software and looking up internet pornography, although many people have mistaken us for sisters due to our similar speech patterns and general lack of tact." The Bot tilted her head to one side, regarding Giles. "97.4 of the time, Spike finds it very amusing when I speak with my tact filter off. Wesley finds it amusing 54.3 of the time. You are also British, but you are not laughing; would you prefer I put my filter on?"  
  
"_Please_," Giles begged.  
  
"How lovely to see you three again," the Bot said prettily. "I am looking forward to spending more time with all of you. May I take anyone's bag? I can carry many things."  
  
"Nobody else came?" Buffy said, looking around the terminal. "They just sent... _you_?"  
  
"Oh, no. Xander and Spike are also here. The screen said that your flight was going to be arriving late, so they went away in order that Xander could get a corndog and Spike could smoke a cigarette. They should be back at any moment. The reason there are only three of us is because we had three cars to use and we thought you would have a great deal of luggage. Xander, Spike and I are the strongest and most capable luggage-carriers besides Angel, who couldn't come because Connor swallowed a K'northlar scale and they have to wait for it to come back out. The others didn't come to leave room for the luggage and are going to meet us at the Magic Box. Everyone is very fond of you and their absence in no way reflects on their emotional attachment." The Bot smiled. "Have I successfully answered all the nuances of your question?"  
  
"Um, yeah..." Buffy's eyes flicked over to Giles, "I think that... pretty much covers it..."  
  
"Let's make small talk! The weather is very nice today. Buffy, I like the changes you have made to your hair's color and length. Giles, that sweater is a lovely color on you. And Dawn, you have grown impressively in both height and cup size since I saw you last."  
  
"Perhaps we could... forego the small talk?" Giles asked politely.  
  
"Would you like me to permanently delete it as an option from my conversation with Giles menu?"  
  
"Er... that would be fine, yes."  
  
"They're coming towards us," Dawn whispered, a secret little smile growing on her lips.  
  
--------------------------------------------------  
  
"They've landed," Spike said suddenly, punching Xander lightly in the arm. "C'mon, let's go."  
  
"Hang on a sec," Xander protested, maneuvering his corndog under the mustard pump. "You can seriously tell that she's landed? I thought it wasn't that specific."  
  
"Well, she was _thattaway_," Spike pointed to the ceiling, "And now she's _thattaway_." He lowered his arm. "Either the plane landed or she bloody well fell out of it, I'm rather hopin' it's the former."  
  
"God, I bet they have so much luggage," Xander groaned, carefully making tidy yellow swirls. "Buffy in Paris for three years on Giles' dime? There's gonna be seven bags for shoes. Especially since the non-slayage means her clothing has a higher survival rate. Back's hurting just thinking about it."  
  
"Harris, it's a soddin' _condiment_, _squirt_ it on the bloody thing and let's _go_."  
  
"Ease up, Evil Dead," Xander laughed. "Buffy will still be around to reject you in a minute. I like an even mustard coverage."  
  
"It's all gonna mix together in your mouth anyway."  
  
"Yeah," Xander said firmly. "_Evenly_."  
  
"_Wanker_," Spike swore, grabbing Xander firmly by the lapel of his jacket and hauling him bodily away from the hot dog stand, a stream of mustard flying in their wake.  
  
"Hey!" Xander cried, struggling to get his feet back under himself. "You made a mess on the floor."  
  
"Gonna be your _brains_ if you don't bloody hurry _up_," Spike pushed Xander ahead of him.  
  
"Whatever, Chips Ahoy. Besides, they've gotta get off the plane and all that stuff." Xander bit into his corndog, talking around a mouthful. "This would be so much better if you'd let me get the mustard right."  
  
"Be _better_ if you came with a soddin' _mute_ button."  
  
"Goes both ways, pal. Goes both ways." Xander swallowed. "So what's the freakin' rush?"  
  
"I just wanna see..." Spike paused awkwardly. "... _them_."  
  
"Spike, I'm gonna say a phrase, okay? 'Out of sight, out of mind'. She's been gone for _three years_. This obsession of yours left 'pathetic' in the dust sixteen exits ago, okay? You've been livin' la vida monk-a and Buffy's probably engaged to some guy named Pierre."  
  
"_That'd_ be bloody funny," Spike mused. "Think the Slayer ever learned to speak French? Wonder how you translate 'unmixy' an' 'wiggins'?"  
  
"Maybe you just say 'em all snooty-like. 'Allo, I am Booffee, zees ting and me, vee arrr tehrriblee unmixzee, no? Sooch a wiggeenz eet geeves me, mon dieu!'"  
  
"_Never_ go to France, Harris, you'd be burned alive by an angry mob minute you landed." Spike drawled, then perked up. "On second thought, go to France."  
  
"Hey, I _went_ to France. I just didn't have to be ripped away from it screaming by the long arm of the Council."  
  
"Kinda gives you that warm fuzzy feelin', donnit? Knowin' she had to be basically court-martialed before she'd come for a visit?"  
  
"Hey, speak for yourself, Dead Boy... _whoa_!" Xander stopped in his tracks, eyes on the very appealing backside of a brunette walking to the bathroom. "Daddy _like_."  
  
"Will you hurry it..." Spike froze next to Xander, and the brunette turned around.  
  
"Oh God," Xander cried in horror, choking on his corn dog. "Oh God. Oh. Oh! No! 'Daddy'... no, I wasn't... when I was looking, I wasn't... oh, _God_!"  
  
"Bloody hell... _Nibblet_," Spike breathed in shock.  
  
"She's uh, she's, um, changed, um, some, uh... grown. _Taller_." Xander stammered. "Not that I, uh, noticed, because uh... _personality_! _Great_ personality... _help_?"  
  
Dawn's eyes widened in recognition. "Spike? Xander?"  
  
Xander let out a feeble little finger-wave.  
  
"Ohmigod!" Dawn flew across the terminal, pouncing on them both at once, an arm around each of their necks. "Ohmigod, it is _so_ good to see you guys!"  
  
"Nice to hear the patented shriek has lost none of it's glass-shatterin' potency, Nibblet," Spike drawled.  
  
"Shut up. You're happy to see me, you just won't admit it."  
  
"I'll admit it," Spike laughed. "C'mere, pidge."  
  
She disentangled her left arm from Xander's neck and wrapped both around Spike, hugging him fiercely. "I missed you! I missed this stupid coat and your silly hair and... hey! No gel! You're all curlified!"  
  
"Same to you," he grinned, pulling on a lock of her hair.  
  
"Eh, I've got plane-head. There's probably a big dent in the back from where that kid wouldn't quit kicking my seat. _You_ look nice, though." She regarded him solemnly. "Curlified is definitely of the good."  
  
Xander cleared his throat pointedly, and Dawn turned to hug him, squeezing tight. "Mmm, huggy like a bear."  
  
"That's a nice way of saying I've gotten _fat_, right?" Xander ran his hand over Dawn's hair, and Spike tried to keep the muscle in his jaw from twitching.  
  
"Not fat. _Fluffy_. And flannel shirt, mmm. I could _so_ sleep on you."  
  
Spike's eyes narrowed as Xander's flew wide in embarrassed horror. Dawn didn't seem to notice, springing back from Xander to bounce on the toes of her feet. "I'm gonna go get Buffy. She's gonna be so excited...! I'll be right back!"  
  
"My _God_," Xander moaned as soon as she left earshot. "She has no idea, _none_, what she looks like now, does she?"  
  
"Wanna help me kill anything that notices?" Spike growled.  
  
Xander stuck his hand out, and Spike shook it.  
  
"Buffy... look who I found!" Dawn exclaimed happily, dragging Buffy over by the hand with Giles and the Bot following after.  
  
"Hey, Xander. Hey, Spike," Buffy said quietly, clutching her bag.  
  
"Slayer," Spike nodded politely.  
  
"Hey, Buffster, I don't expect the full-on, Dawn-style sonic _attack_, but you _could_ give the Xan-Man a hug," Xander opened his arms, and Buffy stepped into them, setting her bag down at his feet.  
  
"Hi, Xander." She squeezed him gently. "Sorry I'm not a squealapalooza. _Really_ long flight."  
  
"A long flight which, _unlike_ Dawn, we did _not_ spend consuming caffienated sugar water as fast as the stewardesses could provide it," Giles smiled, extending his hand for Xander to shake. "It is good to see you again, Xander."  
  
"Watcher," Spike nodded.  
  
"Spike," Giles nodded right back.  
  
"Can we go to the Magic Box now?" Dawn asked. "I want to see everybody, and... oh, God! _Pizza_! Can we order a pizza? Oh -- and donuts? _Donuts_. And oh, hamburger... can we get a hamburger pizza? Spike, can you still make those onion things? Would you make one of those onion things? I would love you forever..."  
  
"Bloody well better do that anyway."  
  
"Yeah, but I'd love you forever _and_ I'd..." Dawn's face lit up in a sly smile. "I will make you Dawn Surprise... yooou _loooove_ Dawn Surprise..."  
  
"Been too long since I had Dawn Surprise," Spike grinned. "You've got a deal."  
  
"Shall we go see if our bags have come off the carousel?" Giles suggested, leading Buffy and Dawn towards baggage claim.  
  
Xander leaned over to whisper in Spike's ear. "What the _hell_ is 'Dawn Surprise'?"  
  
"Whatever leftovers she finds in the refrigerator, all mixed together with ketchup and sprinkles of every bloody spice on Joyce's rack," Spike grinned in fond memory. "Pretty tasty."  
  
"You're a sick, sick, sick, sick man."  
  
"Less talking, boys," Buffy smiled, shoving the first of many suitcases into Xander's arms. "More carrying."  
  
"Merciful Zeus," Xander moaned. "What the hell is in here, Buffy? Bricks?"  
  
"What can I say?" Buffy grinned impishly over her shoulder. "They were on sale."  
  
--------------------------------------------------  
  
"Well, considering this is _my_ car, I rather suppose my selection is made," Giles settled the suitcase he carried into the back of the convertible.  
  
"I have been taking _very_ good care of it," the Bot said. "I downloaded the entire manual and the contents of several automotive websites. She runs like a dream."  
  
Pain seared across Giles' face as he turned to Spike. "You let... a _robot_... drive my car?"  
  
"She _looked_ like Buffy," Spike drawled. "She didn't _drive_ like her."  
  
"Well," Giles sighed. "That is a rather enormous relief."  
  
"Hey!" Buffy cried indignantly.  
  
"I think you'd better be with me, Buff," Xander said, eyeing the pile of suitcases. "I've got the SUV of rugged manliness and massive storage."  
  
Spike turned his eye on the pile with a groan. "How many of those yours, Nibblet?"  
  
"Um... that green one. That red one. And the little black one with the star on the front."  
  
Spike shot Xander a nastily triumphant look. "Knew I liked you for a reason, Bit."  
  
"_All_ the rest of these are yours, Buffy?"  
  
Spike managed to wedge the black one underneath his arm, getting the others in each hand and shooting an innocent smile at Xander. "Right. Well, that's all _we've_ got... see you at the shop..."  
  
"Nuh-uh-uh, Evil Dead. You don't weasel out of..."  
  
"But _Xander_," Dawn protested, puppy-dog eyes boring into Xander's soul. "We've gotta pick up the pizza... and the donuts..."  
  
Xander turned to Spike with a glare. "Words cannot express my loathing for you. Go."  
  
Spike blew him a kiss and popped the DeSoto's trunk.  
  
--------------------------------------------------  
  
"You're welcome," Dawn said cheerfully as Spike shut the driver's side door.  
  
"How come your sis owns twenty times more crap than you, Bit? She n' the Watcher been keepin' you locked in an attic n' feedin' you arsenic donuts?"  
  
"I can't believe you read those crap books."  
  
"Says the girl who caught the ref right off."  
  
"No, see... I have a beautiful system. We have the basic Dawn essentials, to minimize on Dawn-related laundry duties. In case of dire outfit need, we move to Buffy closet theft. Plus, she gets pissed off when I wear her stuff 'cause my legs are longer. Bonus."  
  
_Oh, bloody hell, why had she said that... now he'd had to go and look. Distract, distract...  
_  
"Big Sis seemed kinda subdued, pet. Everything all right there?"  
  
Dawn's enthusiasm slid a notch. "She really didn't want to come back. No offense or anything against you guys. She just... kinda got a taste of what it would be like to not be the Slayer, y'know? I think she liked it."  
  
"Imagine she would," Spike lit a cigarette.  
  
"Do you know where we're staying tonight?"  
  
"Imagine Rupert'll probably take the couch at his old flat. Doubt Anya'll mind. Think Harris has a closet he calls an extra bedroom, I've got a spare room, Bot n' Clem might put someone up..."  
  
"_You_ have a spare room?"  
  
"Harris helped me put one in," Spike said, eyes darkening. "Glinda gets in a real bad way, the whole... swirly Key whatever makes her feel better... don't bloody well know why, but there you go. Red brings her down an' we have ourselves a little slumber party."  
  
"Do you paint your fingernails and talk about boys?"  
  
"Now how'd you guess, love? _Do_ so fancy that boy from N'Sync."  
  
Dawn narrowed her eyes in mock suspicion. "Oh yeah? Which one?"  
  
"One that sings like a bint and prances around grabbin' himself."  
  
"That _so_ does not narrow it down."  
  
Spike's head whipped around. "Oh, _Nibblet_. Don't _tell_ me the boy-band phase is over...?"  
  
"I went to see Tool in London," Dawn grinned.  
  
Spike heaved a sigh of relief. "I could bloody _kiss_ you."  
  
A moment of awkward silence filled the DeSoto, and Spike made a production out of ashing his cigarette. "No more synchronized wankers squealin' 'girl' over n' over like it'd make any of 'em quit bein' one? Might just be the best bloody day of my life."  
  
"The last CD I bought was by the Dead Kennedys."  
  
Spike sighed in bliss.  
  
"So..." Dawn said carefully, twisting her hands around in her lap, "I guess you want _Buffy_ to stay with you, huh? Now that you're all confirmed with the White Hat, time to make your big play, right...?"  
  
Spike shot her an unreadable look. "That what you want me to do?"  
  
"Well... sure, yeah! I mean... you've been all up some Buffy for like, four years now."  
  
"Suppose I have at that." he ashed out the window. "Was thinkin' of askin' her if _you_ could stay, though. Stocked up on junky crap you like, but... doubt she'd let you anyway."  
  
"Oooh, what _kind_ of junky crap?"  
  
"Got those stripey Little Debbies, an' those puddin' packets, little pizza bite things... some of that powdered crap you stick the sugar stick into..."  
  
"Oh my _God_. You got Lik-em-aid? I totally didn't think they even made it anymore."  
  
"_That's_ what they call it?"  
  
"I know, sounds dirty, doesn't it?"  
  
Spike froze, and Dawn laughed. "Spike... I'm _eighteen_, hello? You don't have to do the thing where you brain-freeze before something comes out of your mouth that could sully my tender ears... and while I'm on the topic? You don't have to ask Buffy if I can _come over and play_ anymore, either."  
  
"This mean you don't want to braid each other's hair and watch Teletubbies?"  
  
"You don't have enough hair to braid, stupid." Dawn eyed his hair critically. "I could give you really, really, really small dreads..."  
  
"Only if I get to give you a mullet."  
  
"Over your dead body."  
  
"Others have found that a rather pleasant experience, love." Spike curled his tongue behind his teeth, then retracted it in horror. "Oh _hell_, Nibblet, I'm sorry."  
  
Dawn rolled her eyes. "Don't be lame. I just told you, I'm eighteen. Take the filter off already."  
  
"Filter comes off 'round anythin' with double exes an' it's not a pretty sight, pet."  
  
"Oh, God!" Dawn cried in mock-horror, curling up her hands Scream Queen style. "Spike might play-flirt with me, like he does with Willow and Tara and Anya and every other female on the planet! How will I ever cope?"  
  
"S'different," Spike pouted.  
  
"Dork. You never treated me like a kid when I _was_ one, why start now?"  
  
He shot her a look. "Aww, come off it. You didn't _really_ think I rescued some little girl from a coal bin, did you?"  
  
"_No_, I thought you _ate_ her. Not stupid! You sanitized that story for _Buffy's_ protection, not mine. You were _totally_ gonna tell me the scary version until she came in."  
  
"Was not."  
  
"Was too. And I bet you were gonna make it extra gory, like with intestines bursting everywhere, just to watch me squirm, right?"  
  
"Well, yeah, most like," Spike confessed with a grin.  
  
Dawn leaned back, letting her fingers trail along the edge of the window. "Y'know... it's weird. What you were saying, about not really knowing how to treat me like I'm eighteen? It's like... now that I'm here... I don't really know how to _act_ eighteen, y'know? It's like... it's not who I _am_ here. I saw you and Xander and it was like... all of a sudden I needed to be wearing sneakers and babysat wherever I went again and rescued a lot."  
  
"You'll figure it out, love. After all, Sunnyhell's the place where I come to kill your Sis an' make with the Big Evil, an' I seem to have mostly gotten over that."  
  
Dawn turned to him, and he noted in shock that her head was tilted, her tongue curled playfully behind her teeth. "Only _mostly_?"  
  
"Stealin' my moves now, love? Got a duster I should know about?"  
  
"Sorry," she grinned. "Force of habit."  
  
His eyes narrowed.  
  
"Well... it always worked for you. I... may have added it to my toolbox."  
  
She laughed at the low growl from his throat, then bit her lip. "Spike? Do you still have it?"  
  
He didn't have to ask. "Permanent scar, pet. Only other girl's ever had _that_ honor was that Chinese Slayer with the blessed sword. Now _that_? Stung like a sonofabitch."  
  
"Eyebrow?"  
  
"Yeah." He tossed his cigarette out the window.  
  
"Can I see it? Not the eyebrow, the..." Dawn smiled nervously. "The other. Y'know."  
  
"It's on the window side, pidge. Show it to you when we get out for the donuts, all right?"  
  
"Aw, c'mon, I've seen you drive and smoke and drink blood and eat a cheeseburger and fold a map at the same time, I know you can..."  
  
Dawn reached across the top of the bench seat, trying to get him to turn and face her; her fingers slipped through the silky white hair at the nape of his neck, her fingertips brushing over the broken oval of the scar...  
  
And Spike arched against the seat, inhaling with a hiss as his jaw clenched, knuckles whitening on the steering wheel as his eyes slammed closed... a moment before he managed to wrench them back open.  
  
Dawn jerked her hand back, blinking in amazement.  
  
"Bloody _hell_, Nibblet! Do... _not_... do that when I'm tryin' to _drive_! Coulda _killed_ us both!"  
  
"Sorry, I'm sorry, I... I didn't know it was going to... I'm sorry..."  
  
"Not... _mad_ at you, Sweet Bit, just... not... safe n' all..."  
  
"You okay? You're breathing really weird..."  
  
"Don't need... to breathe, not gonna... hurt me..."  
  
"Has it... has it ever done that before?"  
  
Spike shook his head, still rattled; the hand that reached for his cigarettes shook, and Dawn gently removed the pack from his hand.  
  
"That's not what happens when someone touches mine," Dawn said quietly, pulling a cigarette from Spike's pack and placing it between her lips. "It's not all... _violent_ like that, it just feels... wrong."  
  
She lit the cigarette, passing it to him. "Really, really _wrong_."  
  
He nodded thanks and inhaled. "Same here, love. Angel touched it last week, nearly bloody punched his lights out."  
  
"This guy... in Britain. Buffy set me up with him, Buffy's always after me to date... blah blah blah, you know how she can get, and he..."  
  
"Touched it. I know." Spike raised his cigarette to his lips. "Felt it, actually."  
  
"You... _felt_ it? No way. Seriously? All the way over..."  
  
"Bot said I vamped out and started growlin'."  
  
"Um... Spike? Do you think that... that if you touched mine, it would... do the same thing?"  
  
His smile was tight and strained. "Probably better if we don't go 'round playin' with those."  
  
Dawn smiled a little. "Not safe cartime toys?"  
  
"Not safe _anytime_ toys." He still wouldn't look at her.  
  
"But... I can stay with you? That's... that's okay? I think I'd be more comfortable, and I... I mean, how am I supposed to resist the sinister attraction of Zebra Cakes?"  
  
"'Course you can stay with me, Nibblet. Bloody well yours until the end o' the world, right?"  
  
She took his hand. "Right."


	4. Rock and a Hard Place

"Oh, _hey_," Buffy said with forced enthusiasm, "You guys made a cake!"

"Well -- Safeway did. We are not so much of the cooking. But... we got Barbie, see?" Willow pointed towards the gaily airbrushed grocery-store confection. "And Xander drew a little stake in her hand."

"See all the powdered sugar?" Xander grinned. "Vamp dust. Just... ignore the pink convertible and the pony."

Willow smiled nervously. "So... it's not home_made_ or home-_decorated_, but it is home-_customized_. With the love."

"What happened to Ken and Skipper?" Buffy asked, mouth quirking.

"Yeah, I tried to make them into Giles and Dawn," Xander said sheepishly. "It turns out, those little frosting-writer tubes are not an easy art form to master."

"That's why Ken has an eyepatch?"

"The beginning of a glasses attempt."

Buffy studied the cake at an angle. "But you drew glasses in his hand."

"Well, after further reflection, I figured that pirate!Giles would be polishing them, y'know? Since you're all about to be stampeded by the pony and run over by the pink convertible. That's why there's the bubble over his head that says 'Dear Lord'."

Buffy squinted. "It says DFOP LORQ."

"Okay, _not_ Martha Stewart here."

"It's really sweet, you guys," Buffy sighed. "Thanks a lot."  
  
"I'm sure compared to, y'know, French pastries, it is kinda of the suck," Xander put on his widest grin. "But hey, mass-produced, licensed sugar products... nothin' says 'home' like, right? Living the American Dream of early-onset diabetes, and say, can I cut you a slice?"  
  
"Maybe in a minute," Buffy smiled. "I'm, uh... gonna go talk to Giles for a second."  
  
She disappeared across the shop, and Xander frowned towards Willow.  
  
"Well yeah, she'd want to do that, 'cause she only, y'know, spent the last three _years_ talking to Giles..."  
  
"She's probably jet-lagged," Willow said softly. Her watch began to beep, and she silenced the alarm, reaching into her purse for a bottle of pills and a folded sheet of paper. "And I mean... Hellmouth, y'know? This is probably like the first day of school for her, and in that dready Buffy/Xander way, not the barely constrained glee at the thought of new school supplies me way."  
  
Willow smoothed out the paper, double-checking Tara's color-coded medication schedule, then doled pills out into her palm and grabbed a cup of punch. "She's just got a lot on her plate, that's all."  
  
The door bell jingled, Angel striding through it with an armful of impatient toddler, Cordelia following. "Hey guys -- we made it..."  
  
"Down down _down_," Connor begged, pushing frantically at Angel's chest.  
  
Angel's eyes did the parental laser room-sweep. "Anya?"  
  
"Got a thing," Anya replied efficiently, pulling a brightly-colored rolling contraption from behind the counter. "Stuff it in here."  
  
"_It's_ actually a _he_, y'know," Cordelia rolled her eyes, taking Connor from Angel and settling him into the seat. Connor began joyously making racket with the attached plastic toys.  
  
"You guys hungry?" Xander asked. "We've got pizza, sugary stuff and..." he turned towards Spike, raising his voice. "What kind did you get?"  
  
"Duck!" Spike yelled back. "Some kind of bloody Polish holiday, butcher said, thought hell, why not try somethin' different."  
  
Xander turned back to Angel and Cordelia. "And yummy, yummy, duck blood, which apparently has something to do with Poland."  
  
"Where's Buffy?" Angel asked.  
  
"Uh... she said she was going to go talk to Giles..." Xander lowered his voice. "She doesn't seem to really be in the party place. Will thinks it's jet lag."  
  
"Or maybe it's because she got yanked out of her little demon-free Parisian dream vacation and forced to return to what will probably be her very early death," Cordelia replied. "Probably takes the shine off the welcome-home party."  
  
"_So_ glad you came," Xander drawled, heading back for the punch bowl.  
  
--------------------------------------------------  
  
"Buffy, are you quite all right?" Giles whispered.  
  
"Sure. I mean, sure." Buffy forced brightness into her voice. "All this... freako bipartisan camraderie is a little wiggins-inducing, but I'll deal. I mean, how can I complain that people are getting along? Just... not used to it."  
  
"I rather meant the... er... _Angel situation_."  
  
"It's kind of funny, isn't it? He leaves me so _I_ can have a normal life, and look at him. Steady girl... and yes, I'm still in a happy warm bubble of total denial that it's Cordelia... cute kid. He's like the _Waltons_, if, y'know, Pa Walton was the former Scourge of Europe and Ma Walton had migraine visions and there were a lot less kids and... okay, so he's nothing like the _Waltons_, but still... major normalness, like ABC Family normalness."  
  
"And how do you feel about that?"  
  
"Good! _Relieved_. Cause, y'know, it's a weight off. Not having to worry about him all cursed and pine-y in L.A. He's moved on. It's very... freeing. _Freeing_."  
  
And she went back to staring at the little group across the shop, flinching a little as they burst into laughter at an unheard joke.  
  
"Dawn seems to be adjusting well," Giles commented.  
  
"Are you kidding? She's back with her undead partner in mayhem, she's over the moon. You're sure the whole eighteen thing means I can't ground her anymore?"  
  
"She's requested to stay in Spike's crypt tonight."  
  
"Oh, God," Buffy groaned. "Fantastic. Like the two of them aren't hyper _enough_. They're gonna stay up all night and watch disgusting horror movies and eat sugar until their eyeballs explode. I'm _so_ convinced that Spike likes Dawn 'cause she was the first person he met on his maturity level."  
  
"Dawn is... quite a bit older now..."  
  
"In _body_, maybe. Look at her -- she just tied his shoelaces together. You can practically hear her squee-ing over her little vamp crush."  
  
Giles cleared his throat. "Speaking of vampires and their crushes, Buffy... Willow informed me that Spike does not appear to have gotten over his on you in the slightest. Do you have any idea how you plan to handle it?"  
  
"Beyond my normal regimen of calling him a pig and hitting him in the face?" she chirped.  
  
"That may, perhaps, be inappropriate. He has, after all, done a commendable job here, for no reward. You don't suppose..."  
  
Buffy leaned on the counter, her eyes following Spike as he leaned down to whisper something in Dawn's ear. "He expects big sloppy Buffy kisses as payment for services rendered? Probably. Gotta give him points on persistence."  
  
"And do you?" Giles asked pointedly. "Give him points on persistence? Despite my constant attempts at denial, I _am_ aware that the attraction is mutual."  
  
"Okay, Buffy cannot help it if the vampire is very, very pretty. But hello -- been there, done that, gotten the t-shirt and mental scars."  
  
"Spike is not Angel," Giles murmured.  
  
"Believe me, I know. Dawn won't ever shut up about him. It's like a 24-hour station of Spike's Greatest Hits, brought to you by You're So Stupid For Not Dating Him."  
  
"Spike's actions in your absence certainly speak well of him, Buffy... however, you remember the content of his... well... _obsession_ would perhaps be the applicable phrase. You've been gone for three years, with no contact with him whatsoever... and yet it does not appear to have made any difference in the way he feels about you."  
  
"Looks like he's the only one," Buffy replied under her breath.  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
"Nothing. Nothing. Jet lag. I'm gonna go... try to mingle, or something."  
  
--------------------------------------------------  
  
"M'not bloody _purrin'!_" Spike protested, yanking his hand back from its former petting of Dawn's hair. "Vampires don't _purr_. Peaches, back me up here."  
  
"We don't purr," Angel agreed, ignoring Cordelia's snickers into his bicep. "_Ever_."  
  
"Dork," Dawn said from her cross-legged seat at Spike's feet. "I'm not _deaf_."  
  
"_That_ is a low, manly growl of contentment. An' quit tyin' my shoelaces together."  
  
She wrapped her arms around his leg, leaning her head against his knee. "It sounds just like a cat."  
  
"'Cause _you've_ got sub-standard human ears, Nibblet," he insisted, his hand returning to slide through her curls, Dawn's eyes closing in pleasure. "Low, manly growl of contentment."  
  
"Unlike my stomach's low, manly growl of why-god-why," Xander groaned, lifting up his head from the cushion to poke at the offending body part. "Remind me again why we indulged in this cardiovascular fiasco?"  
  
"So my arteries knew I was back in the land of the free and the home of the super-size Big Mac?" Dawn grinned. "Speaking of which, that's so the next thing I'm eating."  
  
"Plus, _some_ of us are capable of stopping after five donuts," Cordelia pointed out.  
  
"Maybe you'd feel better if you vomited," the Bot said helpfully. "It worked for the Romans."  
  
"Thanks, but I'm thinkin' not so much. Just have to let the Harris iron constitution work its magic."  
  
Anya raised an eyebrow. "Oh... is that the 'iron constitution' that makes you carsick, airsick, seasick, and turn a bizarre shade of green at feminine hygiene commercials?"  
  
"Green is calling to green," Tara whispered, looking pleadingly up at Willow, who just smiled and stroked her hair.  
  
"That's right!" Anya patted Tara's knee. "Exactly."  
  
"I just can't get over how _cute_ he is," Willow said, grinning down at Connor's sleeping face as he sprawled across Angel and Cordelia's laps. "Every time I see him, I think -- this is it, this is as cute as he can possibly get. And then the next time, no! I was wrong, he's _cuter_. How does he do that?"  
  
"Thank God he got Darla's forehead," Spike sighed melodramatically.  
  
"Shut up," Angel and Cordelia said in unison, then met each other's eyes with a shared grin.  
  
"How 'bout you, Buff?" Xander asked, making another attempt to draw her into the conversation. "Dawn get her saturated fat fetish from you, or was that a special bonus gift from Monks Incorporated?"  
  
"I'm fine," Buffy said quietly.  
  
Awkward silence stretched out, and Xander leapt to fill it. "Dead Boy, you staying in town tonight, or heading back to L.A.?"  
  
"Back to L.A.," Angel said, tucking Connor's foot back under his blanket. "Which reminds me... Buffy, if you get a chance, I'd like to talk to you about a project we've got going on."  
  
"Huh? Oh sure, yeah... go ahead..."  
  
"Rachael ran some data for us..."  
  
"_Rachael_?" Buffy frowned.  
  
"That's me," the Bot raised her hand slightly. "Spike and Xander selected that name to appear on my falsified identifying documents."  
  
"Spike and Xander are _nerds_," Anya grinned, nudging Xander with her knee.  
  
"_Blade Runner_ is not _nerdy_," Xander protested. "_Blade Runner_ is a masterpiece of..."  
  
"Most people call me _Bot_," the Bot explained, drowning out Xander's escalating Harrison Ford rant. "Like 'Red' or 'Peaches' or 'Evil Dead' or 'Glinda'. Spike and Xander both seem to gain pleasure from spontaneously renaming people; between them, they have created many alternate names you could call me, like Robo-Girl, Robo-Bint, love, pet, sweetheart, Circuits, R2, Rosie and Terminator. I could print you out a list with usage statistics, if you're interested."  
  
"Uh. That's _really_ okay."  
  
"Anyway, Buffy," Angel interrupted, "We're working on taking out this organization called the Black Thorn..."  
  
"Cream at the top of the big evil milk jug," Spike added.  
  
"And I've..." Angel smiled at Connor and Cordelia, "... kinda lost my taste for suicide missions. I had Rachael run an actuarial analysis on my original plan..."  
  
"Which sucked," Spike grinned.  
  
"It did not _suck_," Angel protested. "It needed _tweaking_."  
  
"_Tweakin'_," Spike grinned. "That's his special way of sayin' we all woulda snuffed it."  
  
"Your presence on the team would decrease the odds of injury considerably," the Bot said to Buffy. "In my best-outcome modification, you back up Gunn against the Senator, decreasing your odds of mortal injury to 3.4."  
  
"_Back up_ Gunn," Buffy repeated incredulously. "I don't get my own team?"  
  
"Buffy..." Angel began.  
  
"The plan is to be implemented very soon," the Bot smiled. "My extrapolations of the decline in your physical fitness due to your hiatus suggest that the most advantageous position for you is backup. Should the plan be delayed long enough for you to resume your standard training regimen, I would of course need to recalculate."  
  
"I'm _fine_," Buffy hissed.  
  
"You _are_ fine. Your health is well within normal human parameters. However, your muscle mass has declined and your fat-to-muscle ratio has increased considerably, all factors which need to be taken into consideration when..."  
  
Buffy's eyes flashed dangerously. "You're saying I'm _fat_?"  
  
"Oh, no, of course not! Not _fat_. _Fat_ implies that you have reached obesity levels. You merely possess _more_ fat."  
  
"Hey!" Xander blurted, panic bubbling over. "We brought _Trivial Pursuit_! Who wants to play _Trivial Pursuit_!"  
  
"If you two are going to fight, please do it away from the merchandise," Anya added.  
  
"We're not _fighting_," Buffy snapped. "And I am not _fat_."  
  
"I think you look really _nice_, Buff," Xander tried. "You got off the plane, and, uh, _yowza_. Not that I was checking you... o-or anyone _with _you out in a nasty, perverted way where one might use the word 'daddy', I'm a man and I am allowed to appreciate a well-sculpted female form without any ungentlemanly intentions, someone back me up here...!"  
  
"Your hair's a very nice color," Angel added, one eye on Cordelia for line-crossage.  
  
"And for once in your life, I actually like your outfit," Cordelia added.  
  
"It was obviously expensive," Anya smiled.  
  
"The new highlights are very pretty," Willow chimed in.  
  
"Spike?" Buffy demanded.  
  
He looked up from where he'd been thumb-wrestling Dawn. "Yeah?"  
  
"Anything to add?"  
  
"Er... what were we talkin' about?"  
  
"Your creepy sex toy just called me fat."  
  
"Always said you could stand to gain a few, Slayer." He gave her a vertical glance. "Looks good on you."  
  
"I'm not Spike's sex toy," the Bot said pleasantly. "And I was not aware that I was creepy."  
  
"Of course you're _creepy_. Spike ordered a _sexbot_ that _looked like me_. That _defines_ creepy. And the fact that he had you fixed the minute I left town? So not diminishing the big fat eww that is you."  
  
"Spike did not order a sexbot that looked like you," the Bot protested. "That's what he received, but it's not what he ordered."  
  
"Hey," Spike blurted, "I'm with Harris here, where's that board game?"  
  
"What do you _mean_, you're not what he ordered?"  
  
"Warren did not even attempt to build me to Spike's actual specifications; according to his notes, it would have taken too long, and he wanted to leave town quickly. Instead, he merely replaced enough of the speech matrices in April's programming to fool Spike until Warren could leave town. Having examined my original code, I doubt Warren had the skill to fulfill Spike's actual request."  
  
Buffy's eyes narrowed. "Which _was_...?"  
  
"You're right, Slayer, your ass is simply enormous. Wanna go outside n' fight about it?"  
  
"You're _such_ a pig, Spike."  
  
"Nah, pet. If I were a _pig_, I'd point out how much bigger n' wrigglier you've gotten up top." He ran his tongue over his teeth, looking her up and down with all the heat that had been missing from his gaze before. "Effect's fetchin'. Specially when you're all snarly n' jiggly like you are now."  
  
He shot her a leer. "Call me a pig again. You do this little head-flip an' it just goes all... the... way... down."  
  
"Oh, you wanna fight me?"  
  
"Dunno, love. Would it even be worth my while? Hear your muscle mass has decreased considerably."  
  
"Outside, Spike. _Now_." Buffy grabbed him by the duster collar and hauled him through the back door of the shop.  
  
"What the hell was _that_?" Xander blurted.  
  
"Fun?" Cordelia grinned mock-innocently.  
  
"I don't think Buffy likes me," the Bot sighed.  
  
"Women are... sensitive... about their, um. Muscle/fat ratio," Angel offered.  
  
"Buffy seems to be very easy to irritate," the Bot mused. "I will have to amass more data and modify my conversation matrix so as to avoid provoking an angry reaction."  
  
"Um, yeah... when you do that?" Angel said sheepishly. "Can I, um... get a copy?"  
  
--------------------------------------------------  
  
Buffy threw Spike into the wall of the alley, his head cracking hard against the dirty brick, and flung herself towards him...  
  
Collapsing against his chest, sobbing.  
  
"Er," Spike said uncomfortably. "Thought you wanted to dance, pet..."  
  
"Will you just shut up and give me a hug or something?" Buffy whispered, muffled against his t-shirt.  
  
Spike wrapped his arms around her tentatively. "Didn't mean it, love. Not the slightest bit fat an' never were. Just wanted to distract you... never meant to make you cry..."  
  
"I _know_," Buffy sniffled. "Shut _up_."  
  
"Is this about Peaches? Don't be fooled, love, he's not near as..."  
  
"Tell me you love me," Buffy whispered.  
  
Spike stiffened. "Er... what?"  
  
"I know, I know, I didn't want you to say it before. You can say it now." She snuggled closer to him. "I just kinda really need to hear it right now."  
  
"Well, I... care about you, Slayer, of _course_ I do..."  
  
"Oh my _God_," Buffy hissed, pushing away from him. "Et tu, Spike-ay?"  
  
He shot her a quizzical look.  
  
"I guess you're not _drowning in me_ anymore, huh? Not all you bloody think about, dream about? You follow Dru around for a century, but I go off for a few years and you start playing tuba in the Sunnydale Who Needs Buffy Parade?"  
  
"Anyone ever tell you you're the most confusin' bint ever created?"  
  
"Oh? Is that what you sit around with your bestest buddies _Xander_ and _Angel_ and talk about while the _overgrown toaster_ makes battle plans?"  
  
"What are you on about?"  
  
"Nothing. _Nothing_!"  
  
"Buff? ... Slayer? What's wrong?"  
  
She looked down. "I'm fine. Just... grouchy, I guess."  
  
"Look, Slayer, maybe it was dumb of us to throw a shindig after you'd been on a plane... what, fifteen hours? If you're jetlagged, pet, why not have Harris take you home?"  
  
"It's not the jetlag," Buffy sighed. "It's... it's just... _being_ here."  
  
"Alley's hardly fragrant, love, but..." Spike trailed off. "You mean Sunnyhell in general, am I right?"  
  
"I kept putting it off," Buffy sighed. "Coming back here. Dawn wanted to come back so badly, but I... I just keep looking at it like it's this... _mountain_ I have to climb. Being General Buffy again. Making all the decisions. Slayage."  
  
Spike wrapped his duster around himself, sitting on the box next to her. "Don't have to jump off the plane hackin' n' slashin', Slayer. 'Sides Peaches' gig, all quiet on the Hellmouth front, yeah? Hasn't been much pop up of late that Harris n' me n' the Bot couldn't handle... no reason you can't just ease back into it."  
  
"_Ease back into it_," Buffy scoffed. "Great. Fighting things all the time, big secret identity, never able to have a normal life or a normal relationship, covered in demon guts, watching as everyone I care about gets picked off one by one by one until something finally picks _me_ off... it's okay, I'll just _ease back into it_."  
  
"Well... er... think about it this way, love. All the normal humans runnin' about, wishin' they were someone special... you _are_. Everyone's lookin' for the meanin' of life, and yours came pre-programmed with a big shiny one."  
  
"Uh-huh. _Yeah_. Right. Rid the world of soulless, evil vampires... like _you_?"  
  
Spike chuckled nervously. "Sorta hopin' you'd make an exception for me."  
  
"Well that's just _it_, isn't it? You're _exactly_ what I was made to kill. I mean, I _should_ kill you. That's my _job_. And here you've been, _doing _that job for three years, saving the world for justice and the safety of puppies and Christmas... and a freaking _robot_ is the one who saved the world."  
  
"She's not a _replacement_ for you, Slayer. Don't go thinkin' that... was that what all that inside was about?"  
  
"No, she's _better_ than me, isn't she?" Buffy asked, lips compressed in a thin line. "She got the job done. I didn't."  
  
"Yeah, I suppose... but love, she had to _kill a human_ to do it. That's kinda your _thing_, innit? Place where you draw the line? You have wanted _that_ on your head? Ben bloke was made to be Glory's prison just like Nibblet was made to be the Key's, right? Who was more wrong... us, killin' Ben to get rid of Glory, or those Knight blokes wantin' to off Dawn to get rid of the Key?"  
  
Buffy looked even more depressed, and Spike continued gently. "Ugly, ugly business, Slayer. Maybe... maybe it was a job best left to Team Soulless, when it's said n' done."  
  
"So... what?" Buffy snapped. "In order to keep _my_ hat Clorox White, I need an ethics-free backup team to do all the dirty work? How does _that_ translate? Do I start walking through the graveyard, going 'Hi! Should I _dust_ you, or would you like to be kept on retainer to do yucky gray-area jobs for me?"  
  
"Er..." Spike squirmed. "This is the bit where I need one of those soul things, right? You want me to go inside, get Harris?"  
  
"Do you think he'd know?" Buffy whispered.  
  
"Y'know, love," Spike said carefully, "If you're well n' truly sick of the Slayer gig, you could let Faith do it. Technically speakin', you earned your retirement with that little overdressed mud-puddle swim you took..."

Buffy let out a harsh laugh, leaning back against a box. "Well, there's the central paradox of Buffy, isn't it? _I _don't want to do it, but I don't want anyone _else_ doing it either."  
  
"So... you're pissed off that you had to come back, and you're pissed off the place didn't go to hell when you left... it annoyed you that Peaches n' I were holdin' torches, but you're annoyed they've gone out, an' you wish you could be replaced, but you think you've been replaced an' _that_ pisses you off...? Give a bloke a bloody decoder ring, pet."  
  
"You're doing okay so far," Buffy chuckled angrily, banging her head against the box.  
  
"Any issues I'm missin'?"  
  
"Anya, Xander, Willow, Tara," Buffy sighed. "None of them have superpowers. Well, I guess Willow does, but... she _earned_ hers. And they all came back."  
  
"Slayer, everyone understands why you stayed away. You wanted Dawn to have a normal life... hardly somethin' to feel guilty over. Your mum woulda been proud as hell of you."  
  
"Well then nobody understands _anything_," Buffy snapped. "If they think I did it for Dawn. I did it for _me_."  
  
"Hardly high treason either..."  
  
"_Dawn_ doesn't _want_ a normal life," Buffy sighed. "_Dawn_ thinks Big Evil You is the greatest thing since sliced bread and _wants_ to learn to slay and reads Giles' books for_ fun_ and... why am I not like that?"  
  
"Just your poor taste, pet. I _am_ the greatest thing since sliced bread."  
  
"_So_ not what I meant, and hi, Mr. Ego! No, I mean, it's like... when they made Dawn out of me, they gave her all my enthusiasm or something."  
  
"_Everythin's_ more fun when you don't _have_ to do it, Slayer. You took a job as a personal shopper, you'd probably be comin' home all grumpy sayin' 'If I have to look at another pair of shoes...!'"  
  
"So don't see that happening, but yeah, I get that," Buffy sighed. "How do you do it?"  
  
"Gonna have to be a bit more specific."  
  
"It _can't_ just be the chip. I mean, where are Hostiles 1-16? Your grand mission statement of life is _eat people_... and here you are."  
  
"What I eat for dinner's not my bloody mission statement. But you're right... s'not the chip. Dru offered to kill people n' feed 'em to me... coulda gone back to my old life easy enough."  
  
"Why didn't you?" Buffy asked softly.  
  
"Was tempted," Spike confessed. "My old life made _sense_. Been at it for a century, right? But I just... well, felt like I was... on the edge, y'know? Edge of somethin' scary and unknown... and goin' back with Dru, that woulda been backin' away from the cliff, turnin' around an' goin' home, never findin' out what the mystery was. An' part of me... wanted to jump, felt like I might never get a chance to stand there again."  
  
Buffy's eyes grew wide, staring at Spike. He continued, oblivious.  
  
"So... I jumped. An' life's a hell of a lot weirder now, more complicated, painful... but it _means_ a hell of a lot more, like it's... hell, I dunno, Slayer, like it's _richer_ or _deeper_ or some rot to that effect, an' sometimes I think I finally got what I wanted when I let Dru bite me in that alley, right?"  
  
"Thank you, Spike," Buffy whispered.  
  
Spike blinked in shock. "Anyone ever tell you that you make _no_ bloody sense, Slayer? Pull a vamp off you, y'punch me in the face... tell you a stupid story 'bout Dru, _gratitude_? You ever publish a manual, _do_ get me a copy, would you?"  
  
"I might even autograph it," Buffy chuckled, her eyes roaming him, taking him in. "You've... you're very large with the all-different. No nail polish, no eyeliner, no gel, less with the evil... I like it."  
  
She threaded her fingers through his hair, tugging at the curls. "I never realized. Grow this out a bit, and you could have a _total_ 'Blue Lagoon' thing going on."  
  
"Think I'll skip it," Spike said warily.  
  
"And hey... moderate clothing update," Buffy teased, sliding her fingers over the collar of his shirt. "I mean, still in your preferred color range of black and dark black, but fabric improvement... you didn't get all dressed up for _me_, did you?"  
  
"Er... well, I..."  
  
"Y'know, Dawn talks about you _constantly_," Buffy murmured. "Said I didn't really know you at all... and I guess she was right..."  
  
"Nibblet's got too high an opinion of me..."  
  
"Mom did, too. She liked you _way_ better than Angel, you know..."  
  
"Your mum was a class act," Spike joked nervously, eyes riveted on Buffy's hand as she continued to touch him softly. "An' she's damn good with an axe."  
  
"Has it?" Buffy asked suddenly.  
  
"Has what?"  
  
"Gone out. Your torch."  
  
Spike mentally backtracked through the conversation, trying to find the connecting thread.  
  
"Angel looks happy... doesn't he?" Buffy added, staring into space again.  
  
"Think the papahood agrees, yeah. Fond of the little midget myself."  
  
"Well, hopefully he's not _too_ happy," Buffy joked.  
  
"No longer an issue, love. Heard about this bloke in Africa does soul-hoodoo, passed the word on to Peaches. He went down n' did the demon trials. Nasty business -- flamey action figures n' beetles n' whatnot. Still, he figured he did it for Darla, who's a right nasty bitch any way you slice her, worth doin' it for the cheerleader, right? Soul's all superglued now, he can get perfectly happy all over the place. Good thing, too. Sick of watchin' the bastard brood..."  
  
Spike turned back to Buffy with a smirk, which faded instantly as he took in her stricken look and shiny eyes.  
  
"Oh, _hell_," he swore. "Slayer, didn't get that info 'till you were long gone..."  
  
The rest of his sentence was cut off as Buffy smashed her lips against his, knocking him backwards into the pile of boxes, Spike struggling to get out from beneath her.  
  
"Ahem," a voice interrupted, and Buffy and Spike popped back up, frozen comically.  
  
"Not to disrupt the excitingly grungy alley sex," Anya said, "But everyone is leaving."  
  
"Right," Spike blurted, springing to his feet away from Buffy. "Gotta take the Nibblet home, then. Thanks for... er... helpin' me get that thing outta my eye, Slayer."  
  
--------------------------------------------------  
  
"Okay, I _so_ never understood why you love this show so much," Dawn said, flopping onto the couch and opening her pudding pack. "I've never seen you cook anything but onion blossoms, and you don't even have an oven. So why the cooking show? Inquiring minds wanna know."  
  
"Bloody funny," Spike murmured, popping the top of his beer. "A bloke gets bored."  
  
"No, no, it's more than that," Dawn insisted. "C'mon, fess up. You've got a little crush on the old Cajun man in the suspenders, right? Lie awake at night, listen to the Divinyls, and think about how spicy his blood must be from all that cayenne pepper?"  
  
"It's _funny._"  
  
"He's _marinating_ a _chicken_." Dawn snatched the remote control, turning up the volume.  
  
"_Jes goin' stick my han' up heah a lil' bit, wiggle it 'round... aw yeah, git dat stuff all up in deah good an' tight, uh-huh_," Justin Wilson crooned from the television set. "_Git in deah, yeah, dat's right_."  
  
Spike snorted in laughter, and Dawn aimed the remote at him accusingly. "See? He's putting in _stuffing_, and you're acting like it's the Three Stooges. What gives?"  
  
Spike sighed heavily. "Filter off, right?"  
  
"Filter _off_," Dawn said firmly.  
  
"Pretend he's narratin' porn," Spike admitted sheepishly.  
  
Dawn's mouth opened in a wide 'O', and her eyes flew towards the screen, where Justin Wilson's entire fist had disappeared inside a chicken...  
  
"_You git in deah, git in deah, dat's right, no back-talk from you now, you's gwine taste so good when I eat you all up, I gah-ron-tee, jes' gwine slap a little bit mo' peppuh on y'deah, slap it right on deah, dat's right_..."  
  
Dawn burst into giggles.  
  
"See?" Spike said innocently.  
  
"Oh God. I'm never gonna be able to watch this show again," Dawn laughed.  
  
"_Uh-huh, dat's good now. Jes like dat. Uh-huh_..."  
  
"Oh, no. I'm so gonna hear his voice in my head at inappropriate moments."  
  
"Be all right," Spike grinned. "It'll distract you from me decapitatin' the bloke you're with."  
  
"Nuh-uh," Dawn made emphatic air-gestures with her pudding spoon. "I'm old enough to vote, serve in the military, _and_ go on dates without you lurking outside with a battleaxe."  
  
"What about a nice, shiny chainsaw?" Spike leered. "Says you _really_ care..."  
  
"Whatever, Spike. I spent three years in the romance capital of the planet without you _or_ your homicidal tendencies. You can just back off, Mister Overly Protective Undead."  
  
"Yeah, 'cause you got _so_ wild n' crazy in gay Paree," Spike snorted.  
  
Dawn glared. "Sexcapades were had."  
  
"Bloody well were _not_."  
  
"Bloody well were _too_. I might be in one of those 'Girls Gone Wild Abroad' videos."  
  
Spike swigged his beer. "_Nope_."  
  
"Fine, live in denial-land. I'll send you a postcard."  
  
"S'not denial, Bit. S'_knowledge_."  
  
"What, Buffy send you status reports? Giles keep a log? Hate to break it to you, Spikey old boy, but I had adventures of which they had _noooo_ knowledge."  
  
"Sure you _did_, love. However... you can fool Buffy n' Rupert, but..." Spike pointed to the scar on his neck.  
  
"_Whatever_!"  
  
"August fifteenth, 2001," Spike replied calmly, raising his bottle.  
  
"Oh my GOD!" Dawn squealed, grabbing a pillow off the couch and throwing it in his face. "That is _creepy _and_ nasty_ and_ not fair_! You didn't tell me _anything_ about that! What, is this Claim thing some way that macho vampire guys can make sure they're not getting cheated on? _Sick_!"  
  
"Didn't bloody _know_, did I? Never done it before, never thought I'd _want_ to, didn't exactly have time to get researchy on the run in the Winnebago, now did I? _Believe_ me, pet, I didn't enjoy knowin' you had your lips mashed to some tosser across the bleedin' ocean any more than you like me knowin'."  
  
"But it's not _fair_," Dawn protested. "It's... chauvinistic, and stuff. Like I'm your _property_ or something gross. You're gonna have a front-row seat for everything, and I don't get diddly-squat? Hello, _medieval_ much?"  
  
"Works both ways, Nibblet," Spike said quietly.  
  
"It does _not_! You've got my first kiss in your freakin' _datebook_ and I have not gotten the first little flashy of _anything_! Did you not bite me right?"  
  
Spike stared her down. "_Works both ways_, Nibblet."  
  
"No, it... _oh_," Dawn said suddenly, jaw dropping. "_Oh_. You mean. Um. Three _years_?"  
  
"Yep," Spike shrugged, taking another swig.  
  
"What? Are people _crazy_? Have they not _looked_ at you?" Dawn broke off, blushing. "I mean, uh. That's, um. Is it Buffy? Are you, like, saving yourself for Buffy or something?"  
  
"Somethin' like that," Spike muttered. "Sides, been busy. Stuff to kill. Y'know."  
  
"Wait a minute," Dawn said, eyes narrowing. "Tonight, at the Magic Box..."  
  
Spike peeled the beer label from his bottle intently.  
  
"When you... were outside... with _Buffy_," Dawn finished. "I didn't recognize what I was feeling..."  
  
"Slayer got a bit worked up over Peaches, had a... weird moment." Spike reconsidered, shaking his head. "_Weirder_ moment. They don't make a Buffy-to-English dictionary, do they?"  
  
"Oh my _God_," Dawn said in sudden horror. "You're gonna boff my _sister_, and _I'm_ gonna _feel it_ every single time. I feel a _massive_ drug habit coming on."  
  
"Seriously doubt the former will ever happen. Latter bleedin' well better not."  
  
"Your chances are better than you think," Dawn sighed, leaning back against the couch. "Buffy talks big with the Spike-is-Evil, but she _so_ wants in your pants. She just doesn't _want_ to want in your pants. I mean, you _have_ to know that, right? Willow's spell was for you guys to get _married_, not... slurp all over each other like disgusting... slurpy things."  
  
"Had a glimmer of an idea, yeah," Spike admitted. "'Sides... own a nose."  
  
"Eeew, eeew, _eeew_," Dawn moaned, then sat up straight. "Spike? Touch it."  
  
His eyes flew wide. "Pardon?"  
  
"Touch it. My scar-thing. We're not in car, we're not driving, we're all alone on the nice safe padded couch. Touch it. I wanna see if it hurts me as much as it did you."  
  
Spike stared at her.  
  
"C'mon, Spike, I need to know. What if you accidentally touch my neck while we're fighting some big nasty demon thing and I keel over in agonizing pain? I wanna be prepared."  
  
"Didn't _hurt _me, love," Spike said miserably.  
  
"Oh," Dawn whispered. "Was it... was it like when you bit me, and I..."  
  
Spike stared at his knees. "Imagine so."  
  
"You know... that was the most amazing thing I ever felt. I mean, I... nothing's ever kind of... measured up, y'know?"  
  
Spike let out an exaggerated yawn. "Think I'm gonna hit the sack, Nibblet. See you in the evenin'."  
  
"Spike, _wait._ We need to talk about this, don't we? I mean, we've got this big _thing_, and we've never discussed it or dealt with it or _anything_..."  
  
Spike leaned back with a groan. "Why not? Bloody Summers tag-team. You first."  
  
"Well, um, okay," Dawn said, not quite sure how to begin now that she'd started. "The, uh. The measuring up. That was the thing, when that guy kissed me, I was hoping it would be... um, more of the same, y'know? Or better, 'cause hi, neck injury, not supposed to be nicer than smooches. And it so totally wasn't. It was just, like, _wet_. And made my stomach feel weird."  
  
"Think I bollocksed it up, Nibblet," Spike said mournfully. "When I bit you. What I said then, about the different ways to bite, and the way I was gonna have to do it..."  
  
"You bit me all sexy," Dawn guessed. "'Cause of the chip."  
  
"Well... yeah. Think maybe that affected it..."  
  
"So we're more of the matey kind of Claimed than the, hey, let me keep track of your kids kind of Claimed?"  
  
"Think so. But... I looked it up, right? We can break it, get rid of it."  
  
Dawn looked like she'd been slapped. "You want to get _rid of me_?"  
  
"Not what I bloody mean an' you know it. Want you to have _free will_, love. Be able to date normal blokes and do normal things an'..."  
  
"Oh, the _Angel_ speech," Dawn glared, crossing her arms. "Couldn't even be bothered to write your own blow-off monologue, huh? Be still my heart."  
  
"Dawn..." Spike tried.  
  
"No, that's cool. I get it." Dawn sprang from the couch. "You're all up some _Buffy_, don't want some nasty attachment to her stupid little sister getting in your way. That's cool. It must be extra-gross for you. I get that."  
  
Spike leapt up to face her, growling softly. "That... is... not... _it_."  
  
"Whatever! You said it yourself, you've been all white-knight waiting-celibately for her ever since she _ran off_. Well, _news flash_, Spike...! She has _so_ not been waiting celibately for _you_. She's been underneath every Jacques, Yves and Pierre that could buy her merlot since the Scoobies took off."  
  
"Don't particularly care if she sucked off la Fédération Française de Football."  
  
Dawn snorted, her eyes flashing. "You love her anyway, right? Even though she treats you like total crap? God, you really _are_ a glutton for punishment."  
  
"Suppose I am, at that," Spike glowered, the muscle in his jaw twitching. "You _just_ don't get it, do you?"  
  
"Oh, I _get it_, all right. _You're_ the one who doesn't get it. _Jesus_, Spike. She puts you down, beats you up, orders you around and it's still Buffy, Buffy, Buffy! I feel like _Jan_ in that lameass _Brady Bunch_ movie, do you know how _stupid_ that makes me feel? It's like when she's around, I just _cease to exist_! Every guy I've _ever_... and you think _you'd_ understand, what with your little Angel issues, but no, of course, everyone takes one look at her and... and _you_! You're my freaking _Vampire Mate_, who's all... _blood-bonded_ to me or whatever and still, it is All!About!Buffy! Every _single time_ I..."  
  
"_Dawn_," Spike sighed heavily.  
  
"No, no. You were right. This conversation? So of the bad. _Really_ liking your whole go to bed and never speak of this again plan. I'll clear out in the morning, let you get the place ready for the upcoming Slayer Sexathon. Go stay with Xander or something. Hey, maybe _he'd_ like to unwrap the Buffy consolation prize..."  
  
Spike snarled, grabbed Dawn by the hips and smashed her against him.  
  
"_Oh_," Dawn said, eyes widening as she realized what she'd been pressed against. "That is, um... when did you... what is..."  
  
"That," Spike growled, "Is somethin' most emphatically _not_ All!About!Buffy!"  
  
Dawn blushed, and Spike pushed her off, stalking across the crypt. "You think this isn't easy for _you_? You were bloody well _fourteen_! Slept in a soddin' pile of stuffed animals, wearin' little pink sneakers... you got _any_ idea how sick with myself I felt? Havin' nightmares where your mum staked me, couldn't bloody well tell _anyone_ about it, knew every one of the damned Scooby Club would push me out into the sunshine if they had the slightest idea kind of dreams I was havin' bout you..."  
  
"You had the dreams, too?"  
  
"Maybe you're right. Maybe you stayin' with me isn't such a good idea," Spike blurted, running his hand through his hair miserably. "Gotten even worse since you came back, all..." he gestured vaguely towards her, "Not fourteen an' all. Look at you an' it feels like I'm about to bloody _explode_, all right? I'm a bleedin' _demon_, pet. Self-control? Not exactly my forte. Tryin' to be good an' then there you are and I..."  
  
"And... Buffy?" Dawn asked carefully.  
  
"Hasn't been the same since..." Spike let out a groan and fumbled for his cigarettes. "Always did _like_ you better, Nibblet. Hell of a lot sweeter to me an' more fun to be with besides, but... you were a _kid_. An' then I bit you, an' then parts of me kept screamin' that you _weren't_ a kid even though other parts were threatenin' to cut them off for sayin' it, an'... hell, I dunno."  
  
He flicked his lighter, stared at the flame dully. "An' yeah, she kissed me tonight, all right? _Not_ my bloody idea! Was just... wrong. Knew it would be, too. Known it a long time, I think... felt it in my bones. Was like... once you n' Buffy were on equal footin', woman-bein' wise, you just... eclipsed her."  
  
"I... _me_. _I_ eclipsed _Buffy_."  
  
"Yeah." He put a cigarette between his lips.  
  
"Don't light that," Dawn whispered.  
  
"We're havin' _this_ conversation? I'm bloody well smokin'."  
  
Dawn walked over and pulled the cigarette out of his mouth, setting it on the sarcophagus behind him.  
  
"Hey! Give that --"  
  
And then her lips were on his, a ragged, needy groan tearing from his throat as he pushed her away, Dawn stumbling backwards across the crypt, kicked-puppy rejection in her eyes as she struggled to regain her balance.  
  
"Nibblet... _don't_," he begged.  
  
"I thought... I thought you wanted me," she said in a small voice.  
  
Spike closed his eyes in frustration. "I _do_. _God_, I... Be a hell of a lot easier if I _didn't_."  
  
"Then why..."  
  
"S'not fair to you, pidge. Ought to be with a bloke you _want_ to be with... not some old dead guy who got his fangs in you once n' messed with your head."  
  
"You are _such_ a dork. I had a crush on you _way_ before. And hello, I seem to recall _begging_ you to deflower me...! All before the bite."  
  
"You were tryin' to save the world, love. Hardly like a date."  
  
"And I picked _you_. Out of everybody."  
  
"Out of _Rupert_ and _Harris_, you mean."  
  
Dawn glared. "You're really stupid. I mean, colossally, ginormously stupid."  
  
He retrieved and lit the cigarette. "So you keep remindin' me."  
  
"So," she spat, crossing her arms. "How do we take it off?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Off. How do we take it _off_? If I can't have you, I'm not _bloody well_ spending the rest of my life wanting to puke when anyone else tries to touch me. Really not down with the dying an Old Maid virgin because your inner Victorian is having a hissy fit."  
  
They glared at each other across the crypt, chests heaving, silence stretching between them.  
  
Finally, Spike sighed.  
  
"Have to bite you again," he whispered miserably. "Vice versa. Only this time, we don't drink. Or rather, don't swallow. You spit. Normally, people breakin' a Claim are mighty pissed at each other, that bit might be symbolic... best to be sure, though. An' then you say somethin'... got it written down somewhere."  
  
Dawn's eyes flashed. "Fine. Get in the comfy chair."  
  
Spike blinked.  
  
"I sit on your lap for this, right? _Get in the comfy chair_."  
  
"You wanna... you wanna do it _now_?" Spike fought to keep the pain out of his eyes.  
  
"No time like the present, right? Isn't that what you said?"  
  
"Fine," Spike snarled, tossing his cigarette across the crypt and stalking over to the chair, dropping into it with a glare. "Let's get this over with."  
  
Dawn tossed her hair. "Let me guess... reverse order? I bite you first?"  
  
"'Bout the long n' short of it, yeah." Spike sprawled in the chair, leering angrily. "What you waitin' for, _Dawnie_? Chompin' at the bit a minute ago."  
  
Dawn's eyes narrowed at his choice of nickname and she stalked over to the comfy chair, crawling onto his lap, straddling his thighs and glaring down at him.  
  
"_Not_ how you were sittin' in my lap before," Spike hissed between clenched teeth.  
  
"Yeah, well, we were on a _bed _before," she smirked. "You wanna do this on a bed?"  
  
"_No_," he groaned as she settled herself down on him. "What the hell you..."  
  
"Just... getting comfy," Dawn said innocently, bucking her hips against him and watching his jaw twitch.  
  
Spike growled. "Hurry _up_."  
  
Dawn tilted her head, biting her lip as she pretended to search her memory. "Now... how'd you do this before? Oh, _yeah_..."  
  
And Spike hissed, his fingers digging into the armrests of the chair, as Dawn lowered her head and deliberately swirled her tongue around his scar, sucking gently.  
  
"Bloody... _Dawn_... fucking... _hell_..." Spike gasped, fighting himself frantically to keep still. "Don't... _don't_..."  
  
"This is what _you_ did," Dawn purred, flicking the tip of her tongue against the center of the mark, smiling when he cried out.  
  
"_Not_ the... bloody... same..."  
  
She slid her fingers into his hair, tugging his neck further to the side, nibbling gently against the column of his throat. "I'm just being _thorough_..."  
  
"Dawn... you _don't_... you don't _know_..."  
  
Spike's protests dissolved into an anguished growl as Dawn ground her hips against him, her fingernails scratching his neck as her tongue traced slow patterns over the oval of her mark, chuckling against his skin.  
  
"S'not bloody... _funny_," he moaned, a sharp crack echoing through the crypt as the wood of the armrest splintered under his grip. "_Get on with it_."  
  
"One," she whispered into his ear, twirling her tongue around his earlobe.  
  
"_Bitch,_" he swore fiercely...  
  
And then screamed as she bit into him, knife-edge of control fleeing as the sensations took him over, grabbing for her and _slamming_, arching up into her, pressing himself where he _oh god_ desperately needed to be, nearly whimpering when she thrust back against him eagerly, their bodies taking up an unconscious, desperate, grinding rhythm and friction and heat and oh god her teeth and her _teeth_ and his blood flowing down her throat and her heartbeat thudding against him and the the scent of her _wanting_ swirling all around him and the blood and each swallow was echoing through him and fuck and fuck and _fuck_, she was not supposed to be _doing that_ and make her stop he had to make her stop this was all going wrong and...  
  
And she _stopped_, somehow standing a few feet from him before his brain came back online, leaving him gasping and empty and aching and hard and hurting and needing and he couldn't breathe right and he couldn't stop breathing and...  
  
"You weren't..." he moaned, trying to get himself under control. "You weren't... supposed to... _do_ that. You were supposed to... spit it out."  
  
"Yeah, well," Dawn smirked, dragging her thumb across her lower lip and slowly sucking the blood from it...  
  
_(Bloody buggering _fuck_, I thought_ I_ was evil?)_  
  
Dawn grinned impishly. "Always figured I'd be more of a swallow girl."  
  
Spike let out a groan and collapsed against the back of the chair. "Gonna be the death of me."  
  
"You're already dead," Dawn pointed out helpfully.  
  
"More dead. You will find a way to make me _more_ dead." He opened one eye, glaring. "Shoulda bloody known. _'Dawn'_. Named after the thing that dusts me. Warnin' from the Powers, that was."  
  
"Well... I guess I screwed up, huh? Better do it over. Don't worry, Spike," Dawn shot him a winning grin. "I'm gonna try _really_ hard to get it right this time."  
  
"Don't you come even _one foot_ closer to me."  
  
"Oh?" Dawn raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"  
  
"Because..." he groaned. "Just bloody _because_, that's why."  
  
"Filter _off_, Spike," Dawn reminded him gleefully.  
  
"Filter off?" Spike challenged with a glare. "Fine. You take one bloody _step_ towards me, I'm gonna grab you up an' toss you into that wall, right? Gonna rip every last inch of your clothes off an' fuck you senseless 'till you're screamin' my name an' can't remember yours. Pretty much gonna do that over n' over until one of us loses consciousness." He smirked. "Happy now?"  
  
Dawn snorted. "That was the worst threat, like, ever. _Don't come any closer!_ _I'll feed you chocolate and give you foot massages!_ What happened to ripping my head off one-handed and drinking from my brain stem?"  
  
"Other bits of you I'd rather drink from, pet." Spike deliberately gave her the full-on head-tilt tongue leer.  
  
"And now you're threatening me with oral pleasure. Damn, Big Bad, I can see why the demons quiver in terror."  
  
Spike chuckled despite himself. "Not really a standard battle tactic."  
  
"Might wanna try it," Dawn grinned. "_Very_ diversionary."  
  
"Bloody well is when _I_ do it," Spike growled.  
  
"You know, until you just said that just now? It never really occurred to me that you had _sex_ with _Dru_. Like, a lot. That's just... weird."  
  
"Oh, but picturin' me with _Harm_ gives you the warm fuzzies?"  
  
"Hardly," Dawn scoffed, opening the refrigerator. "But Harmony was _sane_. I'm just trying to imagine what Drusilla would be like in bed. I mean, I always kind of saw her as this... overgrown, really creepy baby doll." She pulled out a bottle of Juicy Juice, closing the fridge with her foot. "I mean, she used to say the weirdest crap. I'm just picturing her in bed, talking about burning baby fish."  
  
"Yeah, sometimes," Spike said fondly. "Hell, I'd take a million burnin' baby fish monologues over her nasty little habit of shriekin' 'Daddy' when a bloke hates to hear it most."  
  
"Mega-eww," Dawn agreed, dropping onto the couch.  
  
"Nibblet," Spike said, eyeing her return to good humor warily, "What are we gonna... er... do about the thing?"  
  
"I kinda liked your toss me into a wall, rip my clothes off and fuck me senseless suggestion," Dawn grinned, chugging juice.  
  
Spike flinched. "Not used to you sayin' that word."  
  
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Dawn replied gleefully.  
  
"You're just bleedin' determined to Hulk Smash my every memory of my sweet, innocent lil' Nibblet, aren't you?"  
  
"I'm still sweet," Dawn countered. "And relatively innocent. Wanna fix that?"  
  
"_Yes_... I mean, _no_," Spike spat, lighting a cigarette. "Quit confusin' me. An' don't sit like that."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"All... _leggy_."  
  
"Oh, do these bother you?" Dawn asked, rubbing her calf sensually over the back of the couch. "Hate to tell you, they don't detach."  
  
"They bloody well do if you piss me off enough."  
  
"Great plan, Spike. You're worried that Xander won't be your bestest buddy anymore if you fuck me senseless, but you think he'll be a world of yay if you turn me into The Amazing Torso?"  
  
"Quit sayin' _fuck me senseless_. And Xander is _not_..."  
  
"Oooh," Dawn leered. "It's even nicer when _you_ say _fuck me senseless_."  
  
"Stop that."  
  
"Make me."  
  
"You know..." Spike stabbed the air with his finger. "Your maturity levels leave somethin' to be desired."  
  
"Told you we had a lot of stuff in common." Dawn rose with a yawn. "Okay, I'm really going to bed this time."  
  
"G'night."  
  
"Get all _naked_, snuggle under the covers..."  
  
"I ever get this bloody chip out, Bit, I'm gonna..."  
  
"Introduce me to the wide world of S&M fun?" Dawn chirped.  
  
"Think I liked you better all ragingly insecure over Buffy," Spike grumbled. "I ever mention how bouncy her hair is?"  
  
"Toooooo late," Dawn grinned, bouncing towards the ladder. "Goodnight, Spike."  
  
"Smells like some kind of nice flowers!" Spike bellowed to her retreating back.  
  
Dawn's echoing laughter from downstairs was his only reply.


	5. The Things You Left Behind

Spike flipped his pillow over for the thirteenth time, shoved down the blanket he'd pulled up a minute before, and earnestly pondered getting really most incredibly drunk.

Of course, in between the nasty, confusing sobriety and the sweet moment of oblivion when he had finally poisoned his brain cells faster than his body could heal them, there was a vast minefield of him with lowered inhibitions and still capable of movement... which was, to quote a slightly-less-bleached blonde of his acquaintance, definitely of the bad.

What _was_ saltpeter, anyway? Did it work? And could he possibly buy it at the Revco?

It was times like these that he really _loathed_ the whole enhanced senses thing... he could _hear_ her, unable to sleep either, heartbeat accelerated, breathing faster, shallower, than she should be... silky hair sliding across her pillow as she tried to get comfortable, skin rasping against the sheets, sending up body-heat-warmed wafts of anticipation, uncertainty, frustration and arousal that answered his own, and it felt for all the world like an electric current ran between them, making him restless and twitchy and empty and needy and... _dammit_!

You'd think with his ears and nose working overtime, his vision would take the opportunity for a bit of a vacation, but oh no... _it _was busy too, delving into his memories for a rerun of Dawn Summers Midnight Theater that was really, _really_ not helping matters.

Her thumb, slowly dragging blood across her lip, a moment before she'd grinned and sucked it clean... her eyes never leaving his, mischief and dark promises dancing in their depths...

The ecstatic arch of her neck as she'd ground herself against him, lips parted, gasping, eyes fluttered closed...

The second before he'd shoved her off, when her lips had been on his...

Spike sighed in frustration, heaving his legs off the side of the bed and rolling to sit up, his body freezing as he heard Dawn's breath catch, her heart speeding up.

_She heard me. She thinks I'm coming over there.  
_  
He stood up, bedsprings squeaking beneath him, and her breathing grew faster; he bit back a grin at the distinct sounds of her arranging herself to best advantage on the bed, fanning out her hair and draping the sheet artistically.

Her breathing turned unnaturally even; pretending to be asleep, then, faking relaxation while frozen in her prettiest position, eyes smashed closed.

Incredibly bloody adorable, that. Be a real shame to leave the girl hanging... ought to at least go in and make her primping worthwhile, just to say hello, really, and not at all to ogle the final effect of all that artful arranging... and _definitely_ not to slide in between her body-warmed covers and get exquisite, tongues-and-teeth vengeance for her teasing of him earlier...

Spike's spine snapped to attention.

_What the bleedin' hell was that?_

Noise, upstairs; he grabbed a knife off the small bookshelf, wrenching it out of its sheath as he soundlessly climbed the ladder. A dark figure stood beside his end table; a quick breath identified it.

"Buffy," Spike said cautiously.

She turned towards him, expressionless.

"You should be careful," he joked, showing her the dagger. "Never know what kind of villain's got a knife at your back."

She remained silent, and he gestured towards the sofa with the knife. "You can sit down - got furniture."

She sat down awkwardly on the edge of the comfy chair, and he tried on a smile. "You should see the downstairs, too, it's quite posh."

"Dawn asleep?"

"In bed, at any rate." He dropped the knife onto one of the candle ledges, perching on the edge of a table opposite her. "Thought you were at Harris'?"

"Couldn't sleep." She wrapped her sweater tighter around her.

"Patrollin', then? Reckon I'm up for a spot of violence..."

"No, not... I kinda just came to... um, talk. Y'know, we've got the Scooby meeting tomorrow, and... uh. Stuff."

"Oh." Spike glanced around awkwardly. "Er... offer you somethin'? If it's got sugar, think we've got it..."

"Spike?" Buffy blurted, her hands twisting around themselves.

"Yeah, pet?"

"Angel... a-and Cordelia. Tell me about them."

"S'about like you'd expect," Spike scratched his eyebrow. "She cracks the whip, he not-so-secretly gets off on it, they change nappies and whatnot. Y'know, when she's not grabbin' her head n' screamin' an' he's not stickin' swords in things."

"But... they're happy? Really... happy?"

"Seem to be." Spike shifted uncomfortably, his hand rising to toy with the back of his neck. "Cheerleader's not quite the girl you remember, love. Still got a tongue on her makes Simon Cowell sound like Oprah, but she's good to Angel."

Heat flickered in Buffy's eyes. "Oh, and I _wasn't_?"

"Did I say that? If anything, pet, you were too bloody kind to him."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean, Spike?"

Spike sighed. "Right. Might as well insert the other foot. Look... granddad's got an ego with its own zip code, soul or no soul. Either he's the high-martyr Champion of Good and don't you bloody well touch his engraved cross n' nails, or he's the bleedin' Picasso of Evil. You bought it, Slayer, an' that's why he had you dancin' on a puppet string, just like friggin' Dru. Look at Darla, look at Cordy... hell, take a look at yours truly. Trust me, love, if you'd ground Angelus' face in the dirt as many times as you did mine? He'd be lickin' your stylish yet affordable boot right now."

Buffy huffed with indignation, springing from the chair. "You don't understand _anything_! I can't believeI came here to..."

She broke off, glaring, and Spike's eyebrows soared. "Came here to... _what_?"

"Nothing! _Nothing_. Talk. Just... talk. Which is why I am clearly insane, because talking to you? So like asking someone to just hit me over the head with a hammer repeatedly."

"Y'know what, Slayer? You'd be insulted a hell of a lot less if you didn't assume that every soddin' thing in the universe was about you!"

Buffy stalked towards him. "Well, it'd be nice if _something_ was!"

"Are you off your _nut_? You flounce off to soddin' France, and your fan club just keeps fightin' the good fight! You think they're doin' it because they like gettin' kicked in the head by demons? You got the slightest clue what Red goes through? Way you whinge about lookin' after the Nibblet - take one bleedin' second to think about what it's like for her!"

Buffy stared at Spike, open-mouthed.

"An' speakin' of your little Scooby club, let's talk about Harris. Red's at least got the mojo... what's he got? You ever ask what happened to him n' Anya, Slayer? Did you even care? Boy almost got himself paralyzed, that's what. Spent four bloody _months_ in hospital, half that unconscious, still can't walk straight when it's rainin'. Anyanka gave him an ultimatum, right? Her or the 'slayage', and guess what he picked? Wanker's so soddin' devoted to you he can't see straight, and where are you, Slayer? Out here in the cemetery pumpin' the undead for info about your precious _Angelbear_."

Spike stood, the shadows painting his face in razor-sharp angles. "You want to see somethin' all about you, Slayer? Get Harris to take off his shirt sometime. I'm bloody well goin' to bed."

"Spike..." Buffy pleaded. "Look. This isn't... this isn't why I came here, I came here to..."

"Think I can guess. Got a little preview earlier, didn't I?"

"I, uh..." Buffy flushed. "Well, I thought... I..."

Spike closed his eyes a moment. "Slayer. Respect the hell out of you, love, always have, even when I wanted to kill you; think you know that. Think I know you pretty well by now, too. Whatever you think you want me for - it'd make things worse. Be your friend, be your backup, be anything you need from me - but I'm _done_ bein' your whippin' boy. Bloody tired of beggin' for Angelus' crumbs - been at it for a century plus. I'm goin' to bed, an' I suggest you do the same."

Buffy's eyes shone in the darkness; she nodded silently, turning on her heel.

And in the darkness, Dawn Summers finally let out the breath she'd been holding, eyes wide with hope.

-

Buffy shut off the water, drying her hands on a threadbare green hand towel and looking around the small bathroom with dismay.

Like every other room in the single-wide Willow and Tara rented, the bathroom was claustrophobic, sun-faded, and clammy; generations of landlords replacing whatever had broken with whatever was cheapest. Willow had made a few ragged attempts to brighten the place up, but she lacked Tara's eye for color and form, lacked her gift for making a _home_ - the kindest words to be bestowed were that it had obviously been well-scrubbed.

She flicked off the bathroom light and passed into the darkened hall, pausing to examine framed photographs nailed into the cheap, thin paneling; Willow and a thin brunette that rang a faint bell as Fred, the Magic Box at Christmas... oh God, was that Angel wearing a Santa Hat? Cordelia, Wesley, and... Gunn, wasn't that his name? And the green guy was... Larry? Lenny? Louis? Lorne, maybe?

A collage of Xander and Willow through the years... Anya in the bunny suit... a faded one of a Victorian gentleman in a ponytail, and _oh holy crap that was Spike!_ ... a picture of herself she didn't recognize, and... oh geez, that was the _Bot_, how weird... Giles in the library, caught unawares shelving books... several high school photos she remembered...

And Tara, of course... tiny and pigtailed, dwarfed by the cow she was petting... on her mother's knee, beaming... and later, aging, hiding more and more towards the back of the photos, hair falling in her face, trying to escape the camera...

Until she'd met Willow, and it was these that dominated; Tara laughing in their old dorm room, Tara and Willow at some festival, both holding poofs of cotton candy... Tara and Willow in the mall photo booth, Tara studying in bed, chewing on the end of a highlighter.

Tara whole, Tara sane, Tara giggling and cooking and thinking and playing.

Buffy moved down the hall as if she were being chased.

She blinked as she entered the kitchen, blindingly bright after the shadows; the screen door banged and Giles appeared, with an armful of books and politeness stretched tight over the same horror she'd worn when she'd first seen the Rosenberg/MacLay residence an hour before.

"Hey, Giles!" Willow said brightly, kicking the screen door with her toe to make it close all the way. "Mi casa es su casa. You want tea? I made tea... everyone's in the living room."

"Sorry I'm late," Giles shifted his armload of books, smiling kindly. "I got a bit... lost."

"Yeah, we're kinda in podunk," Willow agreed, taking half his stack of books and motioning him with her elbow to follow her. Buffy trailed after into the den, where yet more paneling warred with lime-green shag carpet, mercifully covered up for the most part by sprawled Scoobies.

"Hey, G-man!" Xander grinned, motioning him towards the empty brown plaid couch. "Now the party can begin."

"I'm afraid I have rather no idea what your current... er... situation is," Giles set his books down next to him. "So perhaps you could carry on as usual, and Buffy, Dawn and I will ask questions as needed to catch up?"

Buffy sat down on the couch next to Giles' book-pile, waiting for Willow to take charge... and blinked in shock as Willow, Anya, Spike and the Bot all turned expectantly to Xander, who pulled out a battered spiral-bound notebook from beside his bean-bag chair and flipped through it.

"Right," Xander said, drawing his finger down a page. "Okay, item one... the spell for Tara. Ayn, how you doing on ingredients?"

"All my suppliers came through except one, and Spike thought he could handle that..."

"Spike?" Xander asked, turning to him.

"Got 'em." Spike reached into his duster pocket, pulling out a fistful of sharp four-inch teeth and setting them on the coffee table in front of him. "Also got the Varnak skin. Still workin' on gettin' enough venom, but Willy says there's a group of 'em in town. Can't hide from me forever."

"We're kinda on a deadline here," Xander reminded him.

"I know, an' I'll get it. An' oh... hey, bonus..."

From the other pocket, Spike pulled a long, wickedly curved knife, and Willow gasped.

"Thought that might get a grin, Red."

"It's perfect," Willow sighed, taking it from his hand and holding it up to the light. "Where did you...?"

"Vamp nest," Spike shrugged. "Who knew?"

"Wil, how's the spell itself coming?"

"It's ready. And Bot reprinted the spell for me phonetically, so no mistranslation poofies."

"AndI found the burial ground," Xander grinned. "Let's have a big warm Sunnydale lack-of-surprise, it's right under the Toys R' Us in the mall."

"Oh, that is just a creepy talking-doll movie waiting to happen," Willow shuddered.

"Spike, how's the mall security?"

"Assumin' they haven't improved it since my last visit? Not gonna be a problem."

"Do some shopping, check it out, okay? All right, Item Two, the... God, I still can't pronounce this..."

"_Glarghkguhl Kashma'nik_," Spike said. "And... dead."

"Excellent deadness, moving on to Item Three... Bot, the warehouse?"

"False alarm," the Bot smiled. "The blood was red paint and the suspicious symbol checks out as the band logo of Judas Priest."

"Okay... that's the old stuff... anything new?"

"Had a customer come in asking for mandrake root, hellesbore, and wolfsbane," Anya offered.

"Ouch," Willow winced. "You think she's really gonna..."

"Not the talky type. Fortunately, she _was_ the pay-with-check type." Anya handed a Xerox of a check over to the Bot.

"On it," the Bot smiled.

"New vamp nest in Shady Pines," Spike said. "At least fifteen fledges, looks like some lonely fella's gotten real sire-happy. Thought we could hit it with a team."

"Sounds good. Wil?"

"High school's pretty quiet. We had a little revenant issue in the second floor Faculty bathroom, but I found the talisman... other than a mentally scarred Intro French teacher, all clear."

Xander nodded, then pulled out a backpack from behind him, reaching inside. "The crew uncovered this breaking ground for the new Burger King."

He set an intricately carved metal box onto the coffee table. "I'm pretty sure it's safe to touch; the guys gave it a pretty good fondling before I saw it. Could be some little old lady's jewelry box, but I'd feel better if you checked it out, Wil... maybe get Wesley on it."

"We're both kinda up to our ears in this Vail stuff, Xander..."

"It's not top priority. Just something to look at if you get a chance. Anything else?"

"I have a faculty meeting on Thursday," Willow said. "Spike, could you drive Tara to the doctor?"

"What time?"

"Four p.m."

"I'll be there with blanket on." Spike reached out, sliding the knife out of Tara's reach. "Don't wanna play with that, Princess."

"Shiny," Tara smiled. 

"Okay, that's all I had," Xander flipped a page in his notebook, checked it, nodded. "Buffy?"

She shook her head. "Huh?"

He shrugged. "Questions, comments? You have a new patrol schedule for us?"

"No, I uh... what's your... um. Current... patrol schedule?"

"Spike and Bot on weeknights. Weekends, we take two teams... Spike and Anya, me and Bot, do it twice as fast."

"It might be best if you started off by accompanying Spike and Rachael, Buffy," Giles offered. "They would be far more familiar with the current demonic situation..."

"Or hey, I bet the Buffster has a lot of non-Slayage stuff on the brain," Xander said quickly, shooting an uneasy glance at Spike. "Big move and all... what if we waited for the weekend, and Buffy and I could head out together? Be like old times."

Anya's little snort was too quiet for anyone but Spike to hear.

"If that means that Spike and Rachael would have the other patrol... Anya, I'd love the time to discuss the shop," Giles smiled, and Anya's frown melted into an answering grin.

Spike's eyes flicked back and forth across the cheap coffee table, lips twitching.

Bloody _Scoobies_. Sometimes they made _Passions_ seem simple.


	6. They Make Mirrors For That

Buffy dragged her toe through the gravel, noticing that her new boots had already started to scuff... Sunnydale already taking its toll on shiny, immaculate Parisian Buffy, chipping her off one layer of polish at a time.   
The stars were brighter out here, wherever the heck here was. She craned her neck to see them, listening to the crunch of Xander's feet as he caught up with her, then turning her gaze to him.

"Your chariot, milady," he joked, raising his car-keys and pressing the button which unlocked the doors with a mechanical chorus of clicks and beeps.

He swung the keys back into his palm, raising them to dangle from his middle finger. "Cool thing, huh? Kinda takes the romance out of the chivalry, though."

Buffy pasted on a smile. "Hey - thought that counts, right?"

He paused, on the verge of saying something, then shrugged it off. "Yeah, I guess."

She slid into the passenger seat, hands folded, watching the light change on Xander's face... porch to dome to instrument panel, underlighting him in eerie green as he swung his arm over the seat to look through the back window to reverse.

"Y'know, they make _mirrors_ for that," she smiled.

"Force of habit," he said absently. "Besides, Sunnydale, right? Objects in mirror are closer and more there than they appear."

"Since when do you worry about running over Spike?"

"I don't," Xander said too quickly. "I just don't wanna back over him, y'know? It's cowardly. I wanna hit him straight on, back up, then run over him a few more times. The _warrior_ way."

Buffy grinned. "Right."

"Look, Buffy..." Xander ran his thumb over the wheel, biting the inside of his cheek. "She doesn't let me give her money, okay? It's not like..."

"Huh?"

"C'mon, Buff, I saw the barely disguised horror at Casa Rosenburg-MacLay. I've tried to give her money a million times, all right?"

"Xander... what is she _doing_ out here? I mean, this place, it's... it's _so_ not Willow."

"No kidding." The set of Xander's jaw indicated a sore point. "It's just... remember when Tara's family came for their little birthday visit, and we didn't like them so much? Well, we totally under-hated."

"What, they wouldn't help?"

"Oh, I _wish_ it were just that, but yeah. God's punishment on the sinful, blah blah blah, which is basically what Willow expected... but she had to try, y'know? No, it was when we started researching what exactly Glory did to Tara, how it works. You ever read Harry Potter?"

"Dawn was really into it. I saw one of the movies with her... the third one, I think?"

"Yeah, okay... that'll work. Remember the Dementors?"

"Um... those are the Lord of the Rings-looking thingies, right?"

"Yeah. Basically, they suck out your happiness, leave you trapped in your worst memories."

"And that's... that's where Tara is? In her worst memories?"

"Yeah. I mean, I thought _my_ Dad was..." Xander's jaw squared. "You don't ever wanna see what we saw."

At Buffy's quizzical look, Xander clarified. "Willow did this spell. Big fat mojo, y'know? You coulda _surfed_ the nosebleeds she had. Anyway, it was a group thing, drawing on all of us. And we all ended up seeing... where Tara was."

"What happened?" Buffy asked quietly.

"Well, not to ruin the big surprise ending, but it didn't work. Plus, turns out, when you link everyone up to go frolic in Tara's worst memories? Really better if you _don't_ include the dead guy who gets bug-zapped when he thinks about killing her dad."

"Wait a minute. _You_ got shocked by the chip?"

"We all did. I think maybe even Tara did. Great big kumbayah sharing circle with 900-volt S'mores. _So_ not fun. Word of friendly advice, Buff... if you're ever thinking 'Oh hey, y'know what might look nice with this outfit? A chip in my head!'? Probably better to go with some kind of, y'know, festive brooch. Think it kinda worked out in the end, though, since we were all in too much pain to drive South and get our homicide on."

Buffy contemplated this. "But that still doesn't explain..."

Xander sighed. "Tara wasn't a student anymore, which means no dorm. Wil tried to get into married housing, but hey, gay now. The Rosenbergs had been all _la-la-la-Willow's-having-a-little-lesbia n-phase-we'll-just-ignore-it_, y'know? Thought she was insane to take on that kind of responsibility... especially when her grades started doing a mine impression. Sheila gave her an ultimatum, Willow told her where she could put it..."

"You're _kidding_. She actually...?"

Xander shrugged. "It was a mess. They cut Wil off, she tried to get welfare for Tara, Social Services wanted Tara committed, and then there was the whole big gay thing again. Wil tried to magic her way out of it, and you can probably guess how well _that_ went..."

Buffy winced, and Xander flashed her a little grin.

"It turned out mostly okay... Gunn had all kinds of handy strings to yank. Wil had to prove stable employment and residence... and in a _stunning_ deja vu, the computer teacher at the new high school turned into a vamp snack, so Wil took over."

"But Xander... she doesn't have any teaching credentials. Um... I mean... does she?"

"The new principal's like, the anti-Snyder. Actually knows what's going on around here. Jumped at the chance to have someone else on staff who knew how to handle a Hellmouth."

"Oh my God. Tell me the new school isn't..."

"_Right_ over the old one." Xander shook his head. "Gotta love Sunnydale."

"But... you're gonna fix Tara, aren't you? Wasn't that what the teeth and the knife and the Toys R' Us were about?"

"We're gonna try. Of course, this makes try number six. If you're ready for some ha-ha-not-so-much funniness, it turns out Wil could have fixed Tara right up if she'd been able to access Glory. But when Glory died..."

Buffy blinked at the sudden weight of guilt. "So if we hadn't gone to France, Tara would be fine now?"

"Or completely dead 'cause Glory squished her along with all the rest of us," Xander soothed. "Don't beat yourself up, Buff. Wesley's been working on it, he thinks this spell's the one."

"_Wesley_," Buffy muttered dubiously.

"_So_ not the guy you remember."

Buffy's lower lip extended a fraction. "Yeah, I hear that a lot."

Xander raised an eyebrow, but didn't press.

"So... how about you?" Buffy tried. "When did you become all Scooby Captain?"

"Wil has too much going on," Xander said dismissively. "It's not that much different from the construction stuff. Know your crew, have them do what they're good at. The same stuff you do."

"Are you kidding? Xander, I... I _never_ thought to track Magic Box purchases! And having Willow write that database that spits out what spell they're probably gonna do from the stuff they bought?"

"C'mon, Buff, I got the idea from a Playstation game," Xander squirmed.

"Who cares where you got the idea? It's awesome. And cross-referencing the checks and card slips?"

"Hey, that was all Anya."

"Yeah, and since when have I ever bothered to listen to Anya? Can you just take the praise, please?"

He opened his mouth, snapped it shut; it seemed he was listening to some internal voice. Then, he smiled.

"Sure, Buff. Thanks."

They drove on in silence, Buffy's fingers reaching out to play with the door lock; after a glance at her, Xander reached down to turn on the CD player.

The shift of his arm pulled his cuff back, revealing seven fine white scars that disappeared up his wrist and beneath his sleeve.

"Xander?"

"Huh?" He followed her eyes, and startled, yanking his hand back to the wheel. "What is it, Buff?"

"How far do those go?"

Xander's eyes narrowed. "What an interestingly phrased question."

"Look, Xander, Spike..."

"Has got a really big mouth!" Xander blurted, then shook his head. "Sorry."

Buffy's next words were drowned out by the music Xander suddenly cranked; she closed her mouth again, resigned.

-

Dawn sighed in happiness as she swallowed the dumpling, grinning across the booth at Spike. "So have no clue how you found a decent Chinese place in the Sunnydale area, but major yays on you."   
"Aw, come now, Nibblet, I _know_ you're not expressin' a low opinion of the Dragon Garden?" He leaned back against the green vinyl, lighting a cigarette.

"Spike, it gave _you_ food poisoning. That shouldn't even be possible."

He grinned. "Bonus of havin' the Wiccas across the town line, stumbled on this place one night."

"How come you guys meet at Willow and Tara's now?"

"Well, we don't just. It's random; Harris' idea. Were havin' a bit of an issue with all the baddies knowin' exactly where Team White Hat was of an evening. Boy's a good leader, shocked to say, an' he doesn't have Rupert's fear of technology." Spike pulled a Nextel from his duster pocket and wriggled it. "Have to get you one of these."

"Beep-beep," Dawn laughed. "Buffy, I'm kidnapped again."

"Don't tell me Big Sis _still_ hasn't trained you."

"I've picked up a few things she doesn't know about," Dawn's eyes twinkled with mischief. "But... yeah."

"Bugger _that_," Spike declared, seizing an egg roll. "You're not gettin' eaten on my watch. Train you myself."

Dawn's face broke into a grin. "Really?"

"Really-really. If you're not too knackered, pet, I'll start tonight."

"I am so not knackered. Could I patrol with you?"

"Feel better if we started off in the trainin' room first. After that, I'll talk to Harris about the schedule." Spike considered. "Or Buffy, I suppose, now she's back."

"I dunno." Dawn twirled her chopsticks through a puddle of soy sauce. "I don't think Buffy's all that filled with joy about being back in charge. I mean, maybe she'll _want _Xander to keep doing his thing."

Spike shrugged. "Lad's got the knack."

"You really are friends with Xander now, aren't you?" Dawn asked slyly.

"He's less of a git than he used to be," was all Spike would admit.

"Is that why you shoved Buffy at him last night?"

Spike blinked, then glared. "Eavesdroppin's a sin."

"Crypt's not that big, Spike. C'mon. Is that why you shoved Buffy at him?"

"Didn't bloody well shove her anywhere."

"God, you are the worst liar _ever_. Remind me how you pulled off being evil again?"

Spike avoided her eyes, applying hot mustard to his eggroll with Xanderian precision.

Dawn pulled her Coke towards her. "Don't you think they're too far into the 'Friend Zone'?"

"Bugger the 'Friend Zone'. Remind me sometime to tell you the sort of naughty little hijinks Harris n' Red got up to in the soddin' 'Friend Zone'. Boy's main problem was lack of stones. Doesn't work that way, anyway. All you have to do is look at someone differently one day... everythin' changes."

Dawn tipped her head, smiling gently. "Oh, really?"

"We're talkin' about Harris."

"Okay," Dawn chirped, sipping her soda.

Spike eyed her suspiciously. "That was too easy."

"I'm not gonna _chase_ you, Spike." She flipped her hair back over her shoulder. "Little concept called 'pride'. If you don't want to be with me, well... that's your decision."

"Not quite as cut-n-dried as that..."

"But I told you before," Dawn interrupted. "I'm not waiting around. In fact - I have a date tomorrow night."

The egg roll thudded back onto his plate. "The hell."

"Spike... you just gave me a speech about how you wanted me to date 'normal blokes' and do 'normal things'. Make up your mind already."

He sputtered. "Well you don't have to... there's no bloody reason why you should..."

"What do you want me to do, Spike? Get 'Property of William T. Bloody' tattooed on my forehead on my way to the nunnery?"

"Maybe," Spike pouted.

"Name one non-stupid reason you're being such a dork about this."

Spike mouth opened. 

Closed. 

Opened. 

Closed. 

Opened. 

And closed again.

Dawn huffed in exasperation. "_Lame_. I'm going to the bathroom."

-

Xander woke with a start, his eyes flying wide as his hand scrabbled for the stake beneath the other pillow, lunging forward...

To swipe the air in front of Buffy, who had just nimbly ducked backwards from his bed, hands raised.

"Hey, hey - I come in peace, okay?" Buffy tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, and Xander forced himself not to examine what the movement did to the hemline of her nightshirt.

"_Hellmouth_, Buff. Jeez." Xander shoved the stake back under the pillow. "What's going on?"

"Um... nothing."

He rubbed his eyes. "Uh, okay? You make a regular habit of this, with the creepy hovering and the watching me snore?"

"No, I just... I couldn't sleep."

"You, uh... you want some, I dunno, warm milk or something?"

"No, no, I'm good, I... I'll try again, I just, uh. Nightmare," she offered lamely.

"Nightmare... or Slayer Dream? Should we mount up?"

"N-No, that's okay... no mounting," Buffy replied... a second before her cheeks burst into flame. "I mean, no riding. No. No. I m-mean, if there is going, it, um, should not be done. By people. Saddle-free people. People should stay put. Which is not to say that I should stay put, because here is a place that I should not be."

"Buffy, what the hell's going on?" Xander threw back the covers, swinging his legs off the bed.

"I was just..."

And Buffy's sentence died, her eyes widening... even as Xander's narrowed.

"You came for the _show_," he spat.

"Xander, I..." Buffy's hand stretched out towards him.

"Hey, if you wanted to see it, Buff." Xander stood, doing a slow, sarcastic show twirl; the network of scars that criss-crossed his torso gleamed silver in the moonlight. "That'll be five bucks."

Buffy bit her lip. "Would you still be all bad mood-y if I told you it looked kinda badass?"

Xander chuckled in spite of himself. "Maybe if I believed you."

Buffy stepped towards him, reaching out to trail her fingers down a long, jagged scar at his side; Xander hissed at the contact.

"Does it hurt?"

"Nah," Xander shrugged. It almost covered his shiver.

"I meant when I touched it."

Xander's voice was tight, strained. "Doesn't hurt."

"Xander... what happened to you?" Buffy continued to trace the lines slowly, lost in thought. 

He caught her hand, pulled it away from him. "Buffy? What are you doing?"

She looked up into his eyes... so soft, uncertain, disbelieving. "Is it okay if I don't know?"

-

"Um, hello?" Dawn looked up from washing her hands, pointing at Spike with one sudsy finger. "The little lady in the dress on the sign means _you_ pee next door."

He shut the bathroom door behind him... and turned the lock, the muscle in his jaw pulsing with fury.

"Oh, we're having a discussion now?" Dawn turned her face from him, continued rinsing. "Mmm, way to pick the ambiance."

"I thought of a non-stupid reason," Spike growled.

"And it couldn't wait until I got out of the bathroom?"

He glared. Dawn sighed, turning towards him with her hands on her hips.

"Fine. Let's hear it. What's your urgently non-stupid reason?"

"You should be afraid of me," Spike replied, low and deadly.

"Uh-huh. And why is that?"

"You're _human_. Buffy, Dru, Harm? Slayer. Vampires. They could handle it."

Dawn rolled her eyes. "Sorry, Spike. Never been scared of you. Try ag-"

She had time to register one thing - Spike's hand sliding behind her head, cupping it protectively... before her vision turned white from the force with which she'd been slammed into the wall behind her, ricocheting helplessly for a frozen flash until the weight of Spike's body pinned her firmly to the tile, his thigh sliding roughly, insistently between hers. His lips descended, raw and bruising, and Dawn felt something red and brutal and _hungry_ surging up within her, filling her, like magma rising from beneath. Sensation, emotion, rose to eclipse conscious thought, wrath and lust and gluttony and greed fusing into one raging, violent, ravenous need, her fingers clawing into Spike's hair as she ground herself against him, raw power pulsing with her heartbeat as he let out a ragged growl against her lips.

Somewhere beyond her own moans, Spike's ragged breath, and the pounding of her blood on her ears... there was a voice; not hers, not Spike's, and therefore unimportant...

"Bloody hell," Spike gasped, pulling away from her and calling over his shoulder in - Chinese?

She shook her head, and now she could hear it; the pounding at the door, the insistent, angry foreign shouts.

"Y-you speak C-Chinese?" she stammered.

"Made a point of learnin' it." Spike replied darkly, grabbing her hand. "We need to go."

She let him pull her out of the bathroom, past the outraged face of the owner and a waitress struggling not to laugh, nearly crashing into him on unsteady legs when he stopped suddenly in front of their booth to grab his duster and throw a bill down on the table.

Out in the night air, Spike released her... lighting a cigarette and leaning against the wall with a groan.

She took a tentative step towards him. "Spike?"

"Best you..." Spike shook his head in frustration, holding up a restraining hand. "Just... stay back for a bit, all right?"

"Was that... was that what you meant to do? When you came in?"

"Yes," Spike whispered miserably, then shook his head. "No. I don't - bit confused over here, all right?"

"Spike?"

He shot her an irritated glance. "Yeah?"

"How's your head?"

"_My_ head? You're the one got..."

Dawn shook her head, caught his eye. "Spike... how's your _chip_?"

He stared at her, eyes widening in realization.


End file.
